


They Share A Kitchen

by BuddyBuddyPalBuddy



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst, Cooking, Crying, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Has Issues, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Food, Friends to Lovers, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nudity, References to Depression, References to gore, Slow Burn, Vague mentions of masturbation, alcohol reference, cursing, i think this counts as friends to lovers, post putting others first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24317644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddyBuddyPalBuddy/pseuds/BuddyBuddyPalBuddy
Summary: Logan has been charting the schedules of his fellow sides— Specifically, when they use the shared kitchen. So when he finds a gap in his research, of course he goes and investigates!
Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Dark creativity | Remus “The Duke” Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 170
Kudos: 618





	1. Roast Rack of Lamb (with Mushroom Risotto)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after binging Hells Kitchen. Yes I googled the recipe. Will there be a second chapter? Who knows. Maybe. (Probably)

While the light and dark sides preferred to keep their distance from one another, they had to share some parts of Thomas’ mind. The imagination, for example, was split down the middle just like the two sides that ruled them, a mix of gnarled trees and fluffy clouds, unicorns and demogorgons, living in hostile harmony. They also had to share a living room, a few hallways, and the kitchen. Almost as if Thomas’ subconscious was trying to push the sides together. 

But the sharing didn’t bring them any closer, especially considering recent events. The “dark” sides avoided the “light” sides and Roman avoided everybody. All the shared spaces did was give Logan reasons to share more fun facts at the breakfast table.

“Studies show certain animals that inhabit areas close to human activity have begun to develop nocturnal tendencies in order to avoid said humans,” Logan had said one day over a bowl of dry cereal. 

“And what does that have to do with anything?” Virgil grumbled. Patton yawned.

Logan sighed. “I’ll answer your question with a question. Why do we always wait until eight am to get our breakfast?”

Virgil looked down into his coffee cup, and mumbled something. 

“What was that?”

“...To avoid Remus and Janus.” 

Logan had huffed triumphantly. Really, he found their little schedule fascinating. He made a little schedule on lined paper, marked out by half hours. He practically had their movements tracked down to the minute. Weeks worth of observation, neatly graphed out. It almost made Logan want to cry. 

Six am to seven am seemed to be the hours where Janus, the resident morning person, dragged Remus to the kitchen and got himself a cup of coffee and made himself breakfast, before making a hasty retreat to his room. Remus made breakfast after him, then left at around seven forty five am. Then the ‘light’ sides (minus Roman) claimed the kitchen from eight am to ten. Sometimes even to ten fifteen, depending on what Patton and Virgil made. 

Roman grabbed whatever leftovers there were at ten thirty. Afterwards, (around 11) Janus would emerge to get another cup of coffee and an early lunch, and Patton would get a cup of tea to drink and chat with him. Roman would slip into the kitchen at noon to get water or a snack, then right at twelve o’ eight, Remus would bolt into the kitchen, grab something to eat, then dash away before Patton could enter for another cup of tea at around twelve o’ twelve. At two, Virgil and Patton would sit in the kitchen and chat.

There were only two ‘dead zones’ Logan could find, where nobody visited the kitchen. Between two thirty and four, where everyone kept to themselves in their room until dinner (which Janus and Remus ate at four, himself, Virgil and Patton at five, Roman at around six if he remembered to eat), and from three am to five thirty am. Logan never had the chance to observe the kitchen that early in the morning— which is to say he never had an excuse to disrupt his sleep schedule. 

Even then, his curiosity plagued him. Virgil sometimes woke in the night to grab a midnight snack, but was he ever there at three thirty am? Some mornings there would be a pot left on the stove, or flour on the counters. Maybe it was Roman, trying to cook but only succeeding in making a mess. Or Janus? No, Janus always cleaned up after himself, it wasn’t him. Did Patton wake in the night to cook or bake…?

The logical thing to do was to ask if anyone went into the kitchen at those hours. The logical thing sounded like far much more trouble than simply staking out in the kitchen and waiting to see if someone came along, then ask them if their late night (early morning?) visits to the kitchen were a part of their routine. That would cut out any unnecessary conversation. Certainly it would be the best option— avoid any conversation that could possibly turn into an argument and distress Thomas, while also ridding himself of this curiosity. 

All of those events led to now. Logan sat on the couch, close enough to hear if anyone entered the kitchen, but obscured enough by the couch that he wouldn’t be seen. Not that that mattered, both the kitchen and the common area were pitch black. Not a single sliver of moonlight shone through the windows. He checked his watch. Two fifty-one. He’d been sitting there for an hour.

Logan briefly paused his train of thought. Why did he care so much? He wanted to complete his chart. Why did it matter to him? 

Logan sighed. The mystery person wouldn’t be here for at least another forty minutes. And that is assuming that they follow their schedule every single day. It made sense that there would be nobody in the kitchen. Every single metaphysical person was asleep. Except for him. 

Being thorough is important. What if he had missed something? Or this persons trips to the kitchen add a whole new variable to his chart? Who knows. He certainly didn’t, so he had to find out.

He checked his watch again. Three twenty am. Huh, overthinking truly was a great way to pass the time. Only fifteen minutes to go until the truth revealed itself to him in the form of one of his fellow sides stumbling into the kitchen. Maybe it would be Patton, taking sock-muffled steps into the kitchen on his way to bake, or Janus with a novel and a desire for a cup of tea. The possibility that simply nobody went to the kitchen between three thirty am to five am hung in the air. It didn’t make him any less curious. 

Footsteps. Heavy, thundering things in the kitchen. Logan jolted. Slowly he turned around to look into the kitchen, and found that the lack of light made his eyes useless. All he could see was a shadowy figure in front of the cupboards. He heard one open, then shut a minute and a half later. 

Logan watched the shifting darkness. Metal scratching metal—what the hell was that? He cringed at the harsh sound. More scraping noises. If he could feel anything, he’d classify the prickles running up his spine as fear, or anxiety, but since he certainly had no emotions, he chalked the sensation up to being cold. Even then, Logan flinched hard when the shadowy figure used a food processor. Three thirty five am.

More metallic scraping (sharpening a knife?) mingled with mindless humming. Maybe it was Roman, making himself food. He hadn’t eaten that day, so he would certainly be hungry. So certainly, if Logan were to turn on the light, he would see Roman in his Beauty and the Beast onesie. But then again, Roman was a shit cook. There wouldn’t be any scraping of knives or sounds of rustling in cupboards— maybe the rustling of a cereal box. 

Could it be Patton? No. Patton always loudly sang while cooking. Or maybe it was Patton, and he was just being considerate of the other sleeping sides. How would he even confront the mystery chef? ‘Hey, not to sound weird but I’ve been keeping track of everyone’s kitchen time and I want to know if you do this every night. I have a chart. Yes, it is laminated, and color coded. Tell me about your schedule.’

Logan stared into the darkness of the kitchen unblinking. Rustling of… something, more chopping and scraping noises. Something sizzled, and Logan slowly breathed in. Oh, it smelled wonderful, rich and herbal… garlic, maybe. And onion. He checked his watch. Three forty am, and he still had no clue who the hell was making food. What were they making? 

The fridge opened, and Logan could finally see. The cold light glinted off a long, sharp knife. Logan swallowed. There was a hunk of meat on the cutting board. Peering into the fridge was, well, someone, but when they turned their head, Logan could see the bright shock of white in their hair—

“Remus?” Logan exclaimed, bewildered.

Remus jumped and let out a panicked shriek. Logan stood up from his place at the couch, and blindly stumbled to the light switch. Remus flinched at the sudden light, and Logan just blinked as he took in the sight before him.

Sitting on the counter was a baking sheet with a raw rack of lamb perched upon it, covered in some sort of seasoning. On the stove sat a pot of golden broth that barely simmered, and the source of that delectable smell— a skillet of shallots and rice. Another pan of perfectly cooked mushrooms sat close by. Logan blinked.

“What is this?” Logan asked.

“Food,” Remus answered, “and I would’ve let you have some if you hadn’t scared the shit out of me, ‘figuratively’.” 

Logan raised an eyebrow. Remus looked as disheveled as ever, even though he only wore a pair of boxers with little octopi on them. For once he wasn’t wearing his eyeshadow, and his hair looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. A grain of rice was caught in his moustache. What an odd thing to notice.

“I apologize for interrupting your cooking,” Logan deadpanned, “but if you would be more specific?”

Remus shoved the pan into the fridge, then picked up a bottle of white wine. He took a long swig out of it before pouring a bit into the pan with the rice. It sizzled loudly, and he started mixing vigorously.

“I’m making garlic and herb crusted roast lamb and mushroom risotto,” Remus said.

Logan blinked slowly.

“What?”

Remus looked up from his pan, a little smile on his face.

“Come on, Logan! You’re the smart one, you should know what a risotto is!”

Logan sat down at the kitchen table, staring dazedly at Remus. 

“I know what a risotto is,” Logan said, “a northern Italian dish made with rice and broth until it reaches a creamy consistency, sometimes made with white wine or butter. I didn’t know you knew how to make it, though.”

Remus added a bit of the simmering broth to the rice.

“Why not? I mean, gluttony, envy, greed, all those dirty little sins Thomas associates with me,” Remus said with a shoulder wiggle.

“Well—“

“Are you jealous of my skills? I know how to keep a man happy, Logan. Don’t you know? The fastest way to a man’s heart—“

“Is through his stomach.” An idiom Patton had taught him. Remus nodded rapidly.

“Yes, like gutting a deer! You carve open the stomach and poke through the diaphragm to cut the esophagus and pull everything out! And then you yank out the heart!” Remus cackled manically, pouring more broth into the pan and stirring. A bit of rice flew out. “It’s really tasty. Deer heart, I mean.”

Logan nodded, “And very nutritious. High in potassium and protein.”

Remus nodded even more, his white streaked hair flopping into his eyes. Logan was still in shock over this whole thing. Who the hell knew Remus could cook? Certainly not him. Now came the hard part, talking.

“Did you know that sheep don’t have teeth in their upper front jaws? And that like, a bunch of sheep are gay!” Remus rambled.

“Do you do this every night?” Logan questioned.

“No,” Remus responded, “most of the time I cook in the buff— it’s freeing!”

“That’s… I mean. Uh. Do you cook every night,” Logan deadpanned.

Remus shrugged.

“On and off. Some days I do some days I don’t!”

Logan opened his mouth, then shut it. Remus, as far as he could tell, was every single bit of chaos Thomas had (that wasn’t already represented by Roman). As Remus himself had said, he was the opposite of rational thought. Remus added a little more broth to the rice, stirring quickly. 

“It’s my turn for questions— I have about seven,” Remus said. Logan opened his mouth to respond, but Remus started rattling his questions off.

“One, why’re you in the kitchen? I’ve never seen you up this late, not very logical of you.”

Logan shrugged, not sure what to say. Lying was Janus’ thing. So he straightened his tie, and said:

“Recently, I have been collecting data about the habits of the other sides, namely, when they use the kitchen. A pattern started to emerge, but there were gaps in my data, one of which exists because of the other sides waiting to make dinner, but the other gap I could not fill, nor could I simply ignore. I assumed everyone would be asleep—“

“—And you got me instead!” Remus chirped. “A pleasant surprise, isn’t it?”

Logan started at the knife laying on the counter. Next to it laid a sharpening steel. His wandering eyes landed on Remus’ back. So pale...

“...It’s certainly a surprise. Where did you—“

Something struck him right between the eyes before clattering to the ground. Logan blinked in shock, before realizing Remus had simply thrown a spoon at him.

“It’s my question time, whore!” Remus exclaimed. He summoned another spoon 

Logan nodded.

“My apologies,” Logan said, “go on?”

Remus’ brows furrowed, but he continued.

“Questions two, three, four, and six—“

“Six?”

“I’m going out of order. Question two: is Roman still a shit cook? Question three: why are you surprised? Four, how long were you sitting there, and six, do you want to eat with me?”

Logan’s eyes went wide as he tried to take in all the questions. Remus stirred in a little more broth, but he never took his eyes off of him. A little disconcerting, but in character for him.

“Well,” Logan started, “Roman is not the most skilled in cooking. His ideas are creative, but the execution tends to be subpar. While cooking he is easily distracted, which leads to burnt things. The food he summons is wonderful, though. However, this information may not be recent nor accurate because I have not seen Roman since the events after the wedding.”

“The events— you mean when Padre flipped out and turned into a frog? And Jannie told everyone his name, and Roman got princey pissed?

Logan nodded.

“Yes. But to answer question three as honestly as I can, I did not have any reason to believe you had any cooking skill, especially not of this level.”

Remus tilted his head. “Why so?”

“Because of what you represent to Thomas,” Logan explained, “all of his “bad” creativity. I had no reason to believe you could make anything good, let alone what smells like a finely made risotto.” 

Logan expected Remus to throw something at him again. Instead, Remus seemed surprisingly calm, looking down at his risotto. Logan straightened his tie again.

“Not only that,” he continued,” but also because Thomas does not possess cooking skills of this caliber.”

Remus chuckled.

“Thomas also does not possess knowledge of a lot of the shit you and Jan talk about. Like, philosophy and psychology and a whole lot of other stuff. Roman knows spanish! So who’s to say that I can’t cook? Besides, Thomas’ perception of me hasn’t done shit since the split, ya know? He has no power over me. He sees me as bad, yeah, and I don’t give a fuck. If you ask me, if Thomas let Janus take control instead of Prudey-Patton, we’d be sailing much much much smoother. But that’s only my opinion of course!”

“Really?” Logan asked, surprised.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I think Janus would be a much better ‘morality’ than Patton. He has good opinions of the shit Thomas should be doing. And, he likes me! I’d say it to his face. Patton’s face. Actually I might have? I’m not sure! I’m not sure…”

“I don’t think you have,” Logan said, “but it would be unwise for Janus to take Patton’s role, since Thomas is attached to Patton and the sudden shift would be detrimental to his mental and emotional health. Besides, I don’t think Janus could actually take his place, since he also acts as Thomas’ self preservation.”

Remus rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. Question four! Let’s go!”

“I was sitting at the couch for about an hour and forty four minutes. Before that I was in my room. I came out and sat on the couch at one fifty one, so I wouldn’t be tempted to go to bed.”

Remus whistled low. He let go of the spoon, which kept stirring the risotto even without his touch.

“Goddamn, that’s dedication. I can’t even sit still for half that time! What would you have done if nobody showed up?”

Logan looked awkwardly down at his hands. Honestly, he hadn't thought of what he would do. 

“Go back to my room and sleep,” Logan answered, “but stay up this late for at least a week in order to make sure I had proper data.”

Remus crossed his arms and leaned back against the stove. With one hand, he tapped his fingers to his thumb in a quick rhythm— index finger to thumb, middle finger to thumb, ring finger to thumb, pinkie to thumb, over and over again.

“It really must mean a lot to you. Which leads to question five!”

“I thought you said you were—“

“Going out of order? Well, I’m not! I’m unpredictable like that. Question five! Why does charting our schedules mean so much to you?”

Logan stared at the knife laid on the counter. For a split second, he considered standing up and leaving. Because how could he explain the reason he decided to chart their movements? There were so many, each one sillier and more trivial than the last, each one of them soaked in emotion, so much so there was no denying how he felt, and if the others found out they’d never ever listen to him ever ever again— 

But on the other hand he so desperately wanted to tell him, just to get the words out, so they’d stop pushing on him. Logan fiddled with his tie. 

Logan took a slow breath in. On the counter laid the knife. Logan’s eyes flicked around the kitchen. Sharpening steel, cutting board, some leftover herbs, Remus, the streak of white in his hair. The air was cold, the floor was hard, the chair felt sturdy, and his tie was smooth. Sizzling of the pan, his own foot, tapping restlessly on the ground, Remus’ quiet humming. The air smelled like chicken stock and a bit of garlic. None of Remus’ usual reek, surprisingly. Logan moved his tongue around a little. His mouth tasted like spit. Nothing more, nothing less. He breathed out.

“I realized that all I do is pointless. Every plan and suggestion I give is ignored, or unwanted, unless I push and push… but even then, I’m not listened to. The chart is what I believe Janus would call a ‘coping mechanism’. I know this, too, is pointless, but knowing that I can complete this without any interruption, without any need for input from the others is comforting. It does nothing, and yet I’ve dedicated a good deal of time towards it.”

Remus stared at him, expression unreadable. That was until a bright, manic smile split his features, and he clapped his hands.

“So it’s like jacking off!” Remus exclaimed.

Logan made a face, looking at Remus with nothing but unbridled confusion.’The spoon in the risotto kept on stirring by itself.

“...And how did you come to that conclusion?”

“Well, it makes you feel phenomenal, it’s something you do for yourself, and it’s good for stress relief!”

Logan blinked slowly, then looked down at his lap, desperately trying to keep his composure.

“That is a good metaphor. Just like masturbation, this chart is, in the end, pointless.”

Remus snorted, and rolled his eyes. He sat down at the table next to Logan, and their knees bumped. Remus set both his elbows on the table.

“I don’t see how it’s pointless.” He said, “It’s something you’re doing to make yourself feel better because everyone else is shit. As you said, a coping mechanism. What makes it pointless?”

“It serves no purpose,” Logan deadpanned.

“Ya see, Logan, when you really, really think about it, everything is pointless!” Remus exclaimed. “Every meal we eat and person we see and every idea we have and every place we go and every happy moment is pointless, because in the end it’ll all go away! It’ll all be for nothing! Thomas will die and we’ll go with him, so everything is pointless!” 

Remus leaned closer. Their foreheads touched. How was Remus’ skin so warm? Logan swallowed, trying to push the tingling sensation in his chest down. Fear. It was fear. 

“Every single little thing is pointless!” Remus whispered intensely, “It’s true, you know it is, so don’t you agree?”

Logan looked him dead in the eyes.

“No, I don’t,” Logan said darkly, “Because while death is inevitable, Thomas’ life still matters. It might not matter cosmically, but his happiness and well being matter to me, and I will do everything in my power to give him a wonderful life, a life he can smile at even when he is close to death. So all those things you just said were meaningless? They matter more than anything. To Thomas, and to me.”

Remus smiled, wicked and sharp, waggling his eyebrows.

“So your chart isn’t pointless,” Remus said mischievously, “nothing you do is. As a part of Thomas, anything and everything you do matters. And if you say it doesn’t, then that makes you a hypocrite!”

Logan’s eye twitched. Ah, dammit, he just got played like a cheap kazoo by a guy who eats deodorant. 

“I guess you’re right.”

Remus dramatically leaned back, arms outstretched like a bird.

“I know!”

Logan sighed, hands in his lap. The risotto kept on stirring itself. Was it done? How long had it been? Logan looked at his watch. He couldn’t see, his vision clouded. He blinked. 

“I don’t know,” Logan said, “I’m Thomas’ logic I don’t know why he won’t listen to me anymore. Why none of them ever listen to me. I don’t feel like I belong among the sides even more. I’m a part of Thomas. It’s hard. I know I’m needed, but I don’t feel that way, and I can’t stop feeling. I’ve tried. I’ve really, really tried. Really, everything feels pointless, because none of my efforts yield anything of value.”

Remus pat his head.

“There there,” Remus said, “now about these feelings. Have you tried turning that big brain of yours off and on again?”

A chortle escaped Logan’s month. Then, a tear drop landed on his glasses. He ripped them off and slammed them on the table, taking deep, slow breaths to calm himself. They didn’t work, and dissolved into hiccuping, pathetic sobs.

“Oh boy,” Remus said. He didn’t move his hand from Logan’s head, gently stroking his hair like how one would pet a cat. Oddly enough, it was a little calming. Logan thought for a second of what the others would see. Remus, in only boxers, petting him as he cried. Remus made a few cooing noises.

“Why did I even tell you all this?” Logan whined, sniffling wetly.

Remus removed his hand. Logan heard him stand, then rustle around a bit.

“It’s like, four am,” Remus explained, “everyone is dumb as fuck at four am. Even you, Raisin Brain.”

“Raisin Brain?”

“A pun on the cereal and a reference to how scrunchy and smart your brain is, like. A raisin? It is also something that proves my point. But I get you, sometimes the thoughts just have to come out. Here, try some.”

Logan looked up from his hands to see Remus, offering him a spoon with some of the risotto on it. He’d mixed in the mushrooms. The risotto was as pale as his skin. Logan took the spoon from Remus, and put it in his mouth. His teary eyes went wide at the taste. The rice was cooked wonderfully, and he could taste the wine and chicken broth. The mushrooms in the dish added a wonderful earthiness, ans Logan forced himself to chew slowly, relishing every last flavor before swallowing.

Remus peered down at him anxiously, twiddling his moustache with the hand not holding the spoon.

“What do you think?” He asked. Logan wiped his eyes, running his tongue over his teeth to catch the last bit of the taste.

“It tastes wonderful, the wine and the mushroom… it’s a very well done dish, you should be proud of yourself.”

Remus clapped his hands, dropping the spoon and letting it clatter on the floor. He jumped up and down, hopping back over to the pan of risotto and taking it off the heat and letting it rest on the stove.

“Won’t it get cold?” Logan asked. He sniffled.

“Not unless I want it to,” Remus said, “and I don’t want it to! I’m serving it with the lamb, which I’m gonna roast. But it has to marinate for a while. Here, while we wait…”

He grabbed the bottle of white wine from the counter and sat at the table with Logan, offering the bottle to Logan. How long had it been since he’d had wine, or anything alcoholic? One week and three days. How long had it been since he’d had wine somewhere that wasn’t his bedroom? About a year and a half. He couldn’t risk being drunk in front of the others. Then they wouldn’t view him as serious and smart, just as a silly, drunken idiot—

None of those others were here. They were all asleep.

But what would Remus think? Would he care? He could hold this moment over his head for the rest of Thomas’ life, and he would no longer be able to keep him in check. He’d truly be useless, unnecessary.

“I can hear you thinking from here, Teach,” Remus said, brows furrowed, “I can get you some water instead?”

Logan nodded. Remus snapped his fingers, and the golden wine faded until it was clear. Logan hesitantly took the bottle, gingerly sipping. Yes, that was water. He couldn’t help but take a deep gulp, almost choking on the cold, wonderful water. He lowered the bottle. Logan furrowed his brows. 

“Wine to water? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?” Logan questioned.

Remus smirked, “I think my way is more fun. I still have more questions, if you’re game?”

“I’m not ‘game’. If I was, I’d be chess,” Logan said.

“I’d be strip poker!” Remus cackled, throwing his head back in glee. When he composed himself, he looked at Logan. “But that’s not what I mean. I mean. Okay! Question eight.”

Logan blinked. He put his glasses back on, sniffling pathetically.

“I thought you only had seven questions—“

“Question eight!” Remus proclaimed, “why are you so self conscious?”

Logan spluttered.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? Uh. It’s like, four am, and you’re in your usual clothes. I’m in my boxers. It’s a little weird.”

Logan looked over Remus. Pale, a few small scars unique to him. The octopi boxers. 

“I prefer to remain clothed,” Logan said, “especially in places where I could be seen. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Remus snorted.

“Whatever, I’ll get an honest answer from you one day. Now, question seven and six— question seven! What should I cook tomorrow? Er, tomorrow at this time. Time is weird.”

Logan paused, sipping the water slowly. He could say some basic dish, and join him for that, or he could test the theories building in his head, test the limits of the chart by throwing a new variable into the schedule, that variable being Remus.

“Croissants!” Logan exclaimed. He took a deep breath. “Yes. Croissants. Homemade croissants.”

Remus’ brows shot up. He flicked his wrist, and a piece of worn looking paper appeared in his hand. He glanced at the paper, eyes going wide.

“Ah, fuck, this recipe takes like, twelve hours just to prepare the dough, holy shit! This’ll take all day—“

“If you begin the preparation at three thirty am, you’ll be done at four forty pm on the dot.”

Remus looked at Logan with a bright smile. There was still a grain of rice stuck in his mustache, as white as the streak in his hair. Logan blinked slowly, suddenly struck with the urge to say something was pointless so Remus would get closer, press their foreheads together and do… something. Remus flicked his wrist, and the recipe disappeared in a burst of smoke.

“Perfect!” Remus exclaimed, “Come around the kitchen then, tomorrow, I mean. And I’ll make you the Cwossaints.”

“Croissants,” Logan deadpanned. 

“Oh, keep talking French to me, honeycomb! Ah! But now, it is time for the last question, question six!” 

Remus struck a pose, and a pan flew out of the fridge and clattered onto the stove. Pale, polished bones stuck up— oh, the lamb. With a snap of Remus’ fingers, the pan suddenly burst into a plume of green flame, lapping at the walls and the ceiling, leaving no mark, as Remus’ destruction typically did. The rich smell of garlic and cooked meat filled the kitchen. Logan stared at Remus, unblinking. 

“Question six,” he repeated.

Remus made a face, but nodded and spoke. “Yeah, question six! Do you want to eat with me? The lamb and the risotto? I promise, it’s heavenly! And good company would make it even better!”

Logan stared at the stove. Alright. Pros and cons. It was four am, but he could still be logical, weigh his options. 

Pros: A good meal, conversation with someone who listened.

Cons: lack of sleep, another distraction, what if the others find out. 

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, standing from the table, and gingerly pushing his chair back, “but I really should be going back to sleep. It certainly smells wonderful, but I really must be going to bed.”

Remus crumpled a little, dropping the pose.

“Yeah, sure, whatever! I’m sure Jannie will eat it for breakfast. But you’re eating the cross-I-ants, or I’ll skin you.”

Logan nodded, and took a step backward. 

“I will.”

Remus stood, picking up the wine bottle and passing it to Logan. Logan took the bottle, filled with water, not the wine. He gave Remus a tight lipped smile, and walked to the stairs. Logan set his hand on the banister.

“Remus?”

“Yes?” 

Logan didn’t dare look at Remus.

“You have a grain of rice in your mustache.”

Remus cackled as Logan ascended the stairs, not looking behind him. It was as if he was a child again, running away from some sort of shadow monster that emerged only in the darkness. Running away, not from Remus, but from something. A lot of things. The water in the wine bottle sloshed.

Logan reached his room and flung the door open. His bed was perfectly made, indigo sheets pulled up nice and trim with no sign of being slept in. The lights were still on, bathing the room in clinical white light. His desk was covered in papers that he should’ve already looked over. A well loved indigo office chair sat in front of the desk. He set the wine bottle on his desk, and leaned over his chair. There was his chart. Almost reverently, he took a green marker, and, in the once empty space, wrote Remus’ name. 

There. It was done. He’d finished it. It was neat and tidy, and his. He exhaled slowly. Carefully, he undid his tie, then slipped off his shirt. After that, his shoes, then his jeans. He folded them neatly, and set them at the foot of his perfectly made, untouched bed. Sleep. Sleep sounded good. So did a lamb dinner. But there would be croissants, another excuse to sit at the kitchen table and be asked silly, harmless questions while studying the pale skin of Remus’ back.

Logan snapped his fingers to turn the lights off, and sat down in the office chair. Nice and comfortable. He relaxed, and took slow, deep breaths to take himself to sleep.

Each breath smelled like cooked lamb and wine.


	2. Cross-i-ants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus takes Logan’s suggestion of making croissants, a very time intensive process.
> 
> “Thirteen hours! You certainly can’t be serious. He certainly can’t be serious.”
> 
> “Oh, he is!” Remus exclaimed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I messed up some times, please forgive me. I’m one man trying his very best. 
> 
> The croissant recipe used can be found at sallysbakingaddiction.com/homemade-croissants/ if you are interested in making these. 
> 
> Happy reading!

Remus watched Logan rush up the stairs, then looked at the recipe he’d summoned. Really, it was simple, but certainly time consuming! And what the fuck was laminated dough? Remus tilted his head, squinting. Oh, that took a lot of butter. Remus sat at the kitchen table, smiling at the recipe. He read it over and over again.

“Logan, you sly motherfucker,” he said to himself. A thirteen hour recipe, and that would fuck with everyone’s little rituals. That sort of chaos is something he could get behind. For a moment he considered barging into Logan’s room to grab the schedule, just so he could see who’d show up when. 

But for now, there was plenty of lamb and risotto to eat, warm and smelling delicious. Jan always came for breakfast about an hour after he was done, and he never cared about eating dinner for breakfast.

He heard the rustling of light footsteps. There he was now! Earlier than usual, but who cared? Remus smiled, grabbed two plates from the cupboards, and put a heaping of risotto and half of the lamb rack on each plate. Janus walked into the kitchen, yawned, and immediately walked over to the coffee maker. 

“Not even a good morning?” Remus asked, setting the plates down at the table. Janus rolled his eyes. It was fun to see Janus so disheveled, hat and cloak gone, replaced with an oversized shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He still wore the gloves, though. Come to think of it, Remus could remember every single time Janus had shown him his hands— there were five. One for each finger on each hand.

“Why don’t you take your gloves off?” Remus asked. Janus flicked him on the cheek before sitting down with a large cup of coffee. 

“Jesus, Remus, let me at least wake up.”

“But you are awake..?”

Janus snorted.

“Let me have a cup of coffee, Reem. The food looks delicious, though. This is lamb, correct?”

Remus nodded, summoning silverware for Janus and him, even though he knew Janus would only use the spoon.

“Tear a bit of the meat off and eat it before having the rest, I marinated it! I think it’ll be extra tasty. And it’s garlic! I know how much you love garlic.”

Janus rolled his eyes, but he did cut off a sliver of meat, delicately picking it up with his fork and setting it on his tongue. Remus clutched the edge of the table as he watched Janus chew, then swallow.

“It’s delicious,” Janus said with a smile, “the meat is cooked perfectly and the seasoning is exquisite.”

Remus slammed his hands on the table, then energetically flapped them about, smiling brighter than a million stars. He giggled and stomped his feet a little, taking a minute to calm down.

“You can have the rest now,” he said, still grinning. Janus nodded. As dignified as he could, he picked up the half rack of lamb in his gloved fingers. Remus watched silently as Janus’ jaw opened, then opened some more, unhinging wide enough for the half rack to slip into his mouth. Then, Janus swallowed, polished bones and all. Remus clapped, and Janus daintily patted his lips with a napkin.

“Pardon me,” Janus said. 

“You are certainly pardoned!” Remus chirped. He picked up his knife and fork, and cut into the lamb. The herbs smelled fantastic, and the knife slid through the meat so easily.

“Did you know that the Cleveland Torso Murderer dismembered his victims so badly only three of his thirteen victims were identified?” Remus rambled, mouth full, “Often the head would be missing! Or their dicks! His first victim was found chopped apart by a lake! With no head!”

Janus made a face, a spoonful of risotto right in front of his mouth. 

“The meat made you think of that, right?” 

“Cutting it,” Remus answered, “it was a doozy to make, and I’m sure as hell going to enjoy it. Oh! You won’t believe who I ran into last night!”

Janus looked at him nervously.

“Orange..?” He asked. Remus shook his head. Orange never visited the kitchen. He liked to stay out of sight. Occasionally he would pop in, but only if Remus made something with bok choy. Weird guy.

“Nope. Logan!” Remus crowed, “we had a lovely conversation and he recommended a recipe to me.”

Janus raised an eyebrow, reaching over the table with a gloved hand. Remus conjured the recipe and passed it to Janus. Janus squinted at the paper, then guffawed.

“Thirteen hours! You certainly can’t be serious. He certainly can’t be serious.”

“Oh, he is!” Remus exclaimed, “the reason he gave me the recipe and the reason he came to the kitchen in the first place was because turns out we all have little schedules. Like how we always go early so we don’t bump into Vergilius and Patton and Logan and my brother—“

“Let me stop you there.” Janus leaned back in his chair. He elegantly took a bite of risotto, then continued speaking. “We don’t eat early to avoid the others. We eat early because I like to wake up early. The self-proclaimed ‘light sides’ eat later than us because they loathe our company. Specifically: Virgil and Roman. And Patton simply doesn’t like to talk to you.”

Remus chortled. 

“Yeah, I know all that. So, tomorrow— this evening..? I don’t know, but I’m gonna make the cross-i-ants.”

Janus raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Cross-i-ants.”

“You know how to pronounce it,” Janus drawled. Remus smirked, slurping some lamb right off the bone. Then, he cracked it between his teeth and sucked out the marrow inside. Janus seemed unimpressed.

“Yeah, I do, but you know how I love being annoying!”

“Oh, I know you better than anyone, of course I know just what you love.”

Remus snapped his fingers. The lights dimmed, and a candle appeared on the table, bathing them in dim, romantic light.

“You do now?” He purred.

Janus pulled off his glove. He licked his thumb and pointer finger, and pinched the wick of the candle. It extinguished with a hiss.

“You love pissing everyone off.”

Remus leaned back into his seat.

“Yup. I’m gonna make the cross-i-aints, they’ll be ready at like, four o’clock pm tomorrow. I don’t remember, Logan did the math.”

Janus squinted at him as he delicately pulled his glove back on.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea..?” Janus said, “we don’t want to cause any conflict that could lead to Thomas’ mental health deteriorating more than it already has.”

Remus waved his hand nonchalantly, the lights flickering back to life.

“Fucking bullshit, it’ll be fine. I’m done with my plate, by the way, If you want the rest of my risotto.”

With that, he stood from the table and flopped onto his back, promptly sinking out and back to his half of the imagination.

—

Three am. Remus danced into the kitchen, wearing nothing but an incandescent yet slightly deranged smile on his face. His hair was all messy from tossing and turning in his sleep, dreaming of croissants and the messiness his presence in the kitchen would cause. With an energetic clap, he summoned the recipe. The dough would be easy enough to make— flour, butter, some yeast, milk, et cetera. He opened the fridge, and took out the milk. But even after getting the ingredients he needed, he left the fridge open. That’s how Logan saw him last night, by the light of the fridge.

So he kept the fridge open as he mixed the ingredients for the dough, bathed in the cold light. By the time he had to add the milk into the dough (slowly, the recipe said,) the kitchen had grown a little chilly. For a moment and only a moment Remus regretted not wearing any clothing. To warm himself up, he spun around, dancing a little before getting back to mixing all the milk into the dough. That was finished quickly. Then, he took the dough out of the bowl, and dunked his hands into the flour before kneading.

“What the fuck are you doing,” a voice snapped. Remus looked up, spotting Janus standing before him, hair messy and eyes squinting. He still wore the gloves. Did he wear them to bed?

“I’m making cross-i-ants, can’t you tell? And do you wear your gloves to bed or something?”

Janus crossed his hands behind his back.

“...No, I don’t. To be honest, I thought you were joking when you said you were planning on making croissants,” Janus said. Remus rolled his eyes, and kept on kneading.

“Look,” Remus responded, “I’m as curious as Logan is about this schedule thing, and I want to see what happens when it’s fucked with! It’ll be fun. And we get nice pastries!”

Janus raked his eyes up and down Remus’ body. He watched them move, somewhat uncaring.

“Is being nude part of this experiment?”

“No, I just felt like feeling free. Join me, be free.”

“Remus—“

Remus winked, then tilted his head curiously.

“Fuckin, snakes have two dicks. I’ve never seen your dick. Dicks?”

“You don’t need to see my genitalia.”

“Oh come on, Jannie,” Remus whined, “please? For me?”

Remus finished kneading the dough and strode over to Janus, waggling his eyebrows and shoulders suggestively. Janus scoffed, but the scoff sounded a little more like a laugh than a real angry scoff. 

“Only if you promise me two things—“

“One for each dick?”

“You’re pushing it,” Janus deadpanned. Then he walked over to the counter and leaned against it. 

“One,” Janus continued, “you cook me rabbit. You know how much I love rabbit. Secondly, put on some goddamn clothing. Please. You’ll catch a cold.”

“I’m not a human person, Jannie, I’ll be fine.”

“Do you want to see my genitalia or not.”

Remus snorted, then said “Just say dick, motherfucker. And yes I want to see your cock and balls and also your other dick.”

“Why are we friends.”

“Because you have nobody else! And I don’t either!”

“What about Logan?”

“Now that’s off topic,” Remus said. “But— Back to the topic at hand— I know just what to wear!”

Remus snapped his fingers, and he was suddenly donning a pastel pink apron that said “kiss the cook” in glittery black cursive. Remus conjured a green marker with a snap of his fingers, and started scribbling. When he pulled away from the apron, the word ‘kiss’ had been scratched out, and ‘FUCK’ had been written in its place. Janus sighed, since technically, Remus was wearing clothes. 

Janus yanked down his boxers, showing Remus what he wanted to see.

“Fuck me running, you do have two dicks! That’s impressive. How do you wear pants?”

“Like anyone else,” Janus drawled, looking away. Remus, however, intensely stared.

“Wait a damn minute,” he said after a minute, “is your dick— your dicks— bigger than mine?”

Remus pulled up his apron, and held his dick in his hand. He couldn’t really tell since Janus stood a few paces away from him, and because there were two. The human part of Janus’ face was bright red.

“We have the same body, I doubt—“

“What the fuck is going on?!?” Someone shouted. Remus whirled around, dick still out, and stared into the sleepy, raccoon-like eyes of Virgil.

“Whip out your dick, bitch, I’m making croissants!”

Virgil opened his mouth, then shut it. He turned on his heel, and walked away without another word, followed by Remus’ hysterical laughter.

—

Janus stayed a few hours, chatting idly with Remus as he mixed butter and put a bunch of things in the fridge to wait for a really long time. The recipe said four hours, but Remus decided to wait five, just to make sure the dough would be super good. 

After he took the dough out of the fridge, Patton, Virgil, and Logan strolled into the kitchen. Upon seeing the two of them, Patton gasped, Virgil groaned, and Logan nonchalantly walked over to the coffee maker. 

“Remus!” Patton squeaked. 

“Guilty as charged,” Remus said. He put the dough back into the fridge. He didn’t want to fuck up the recipe because of them.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Virgil growled, “besides… oh god, that wasn’t a nightmare, was it?”

“More like a sweet, sweet dream. But to answer your question! I’m making cross-i-ants!”

Virgil opened his mouth to say something that would probably be really rude, but Patton interrupted him.

“Sorry, what?”

“He’s making croissants,” Janus said, glaring at Logan, “from scratch.”

Logan sipped his coffee. Patton didn’t seem to notice Janus’ glare, instead looking quizzically at Remus.

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook,” he said, swallowing nervously. Remus chuckled.

“Oh, I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?”

Virgil glared silently at him, but with enough heat to fry an egg real quick. Egg. Oh—

“Do you want a demonstration? I can make some breakfast for you all! Jannie and I haven’t eaten yet, so I can make some nice food just to prove my point! Crêpes, strawberries, maybe a bit of jam… Virgil, you can be my sous chef! What would go well with the crepes?”

“Something with protein,” Virgil answered, “like bacon. And some fruit. But I’m not helping you make it.” 

“Come on! Vergilius, Virgin, Virgie— it would be just like old times!”

Virgil hissed at him, then stormed off into the living room. Remus heard him flop down onto the couch, then turn the tv on. Logan looked at Remus, clearly curious. 

“Old times?” Logan questioned. Remus waved his hand.

“Well who do you think taught Virgil how to cook? Janus? He can’t cook to save his goddamn life!”

“I’m right here, you know,” Janus said.

“Am I wrong? You burn or overcook everything.”

Instead of answering, Janus grumbled and poured himself a cup of coffee. Remus opened the fridge, pulling out eggs and bacon. Crepes would be too hard to make while having conversation, and croissants were french enough. With a flick of the wrist he summoned a frying pan, and put it on the stove. Patton hadn't moved since the start of their conversation.

“Do you want to help?” Remus asked. Patton looked nervous to say the least, but awkwardly stepped into the kitchen. Remus shrugged, and cracked a few eggs into a bowl, quickly scrambling them. He put a bit of butter into the saucepan.

“You can start on the bacon,” Remus said. He passed the bacon and a frying pan to Patton. They stood awkwardly close to one another.

“How are the croissants treating you, Remus?” Logan asked. Remus smiled, watching the butter melt, then sizzle. He tilted the pan around, then poured in the egg. 

“Oh it’s going swimmingly! Like a fish, or a shark! Do you know lobsters have teeth in their stomachs? Imagine if humans had teeth in their stomachs and you chewed things after swallowing them! And your stomach growling was just the teeth at work?”

Patton cringed, slowly laying the strips of bacon into the pan. Remus smiled as Patton looked at Logan with his big brown eyes screaming ‘help me, oh god.’ The pan had started to heat up, and the bacon crackled while the eggs cooked. Remus mixed them slowly.

“How did the process of laminating the dough work?” Logan asked. 

“I just have to wrap butter with the dough. Pretty fuckin’ simple. I haven’t done it yet, but it’ll be easy. Even Jannie could do it!”

“What are you guys talking about?” Patton asked.

“I requested that Remus make croissants after, oh, bumping into him last night. The night before last?”

“Twenty four hours ago,” Janus answered, “and since you didn’t stick around— the lamb was delicious.”

Patton looked at the pan, then at Remus.

“Remus, kiddo, I uh, don’t mean to be rude—“

“You couldn’t offend me if you tried, puffball.”

“Uh. Right. What I wanted to ask is, um. How do you know how to cook?”

Remus cackled, smiling bright as he mixed the eggs. They were starting to cook a little bit, but he kept stirring slowly.

“How do Logan and Jannie know all about philosophy? How can they teach Thomas things while also existing as a part of them?”

Patton opened his mouth, then closed it. He shifted a little away from Remus.

“Well… I don’t know? Maybe it could be like, uh. Logan said you were a bunch of thoughts he was guilty about, like the bad imagination, so maybe since he used to feel guilty about not cooking, you got all those cooking skills! That could be how! Or— or from the Hello Fresh ad that Thomas did in your video!”

Logan walked over to the coffee machine, pouring himself another cup. 

“Do you want any cream or sugar, Logan?” Remus asked. Logan shook his head with a tight lipped smile.

“Remus’ existence is as a part of Thomas’ imagination,” Logan said, “I don’t see how cooking would be a part of that. And, him asking Virgil to cook with him like ‘old times’ implies that Remus knew how to cook before the video was published. In my very humble opinion, if anyone would know how to cook well, I think it would be Virgil and Janus, since they act as Thomas’ self preservation. So Remus knowing how to cook is a surprise.”

“Janus cannot fucking cook, I’ve said it once and I’ll say it a million times!” Remus said, “once he put wine in a bowl and said it was soup. And once he made a Bloody Mary and said that was a soup, too!”

Logan made a face as he sipped his coffee. Janus shrugged, leaning back in his chair.

“What’s the difference? I mean, a Bloody Mary has tomatoes.”

Remus giggled, and that was the final nail in the conversation’s coffin. They cooked in silence until the food was done. Patton made himself and Virgil a plate of food and scurried off into the living room, and Janus returned to his room since he’s already eaten. That left him and Logan in the kitchen together. Logan started to make himself a plate of eggs and bacon.

“I’m surprised that Virgil didn’t rip my throat out with his teeth upon seeing me. And I’m surprised Patton didn’t scurry away like a little bunny rabbit! I promised that I would make Jannie rabbit. Do you know Janus has two cocks?”

Logan blinked slowly. 

“No, that I did not. I’m also surprised that that encounter went as smoothly as it did, especially since, as you said, Virgil and Patton both dislike you.”

“Couldn’t’ve said it better myself, teach. I’m surprised Jan and Virgil didn’t get into a hissy fit. Ya know where they both hiss at one another? It used to happen all the time. Honestly it’s fun to watch as long as you have a bag of chips. Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Water, if you could.”

“Not orange juice? Or even another cup of coffee?”

Logan straightened his tie, looking awkward as ever.

“I’ve had enough coffee to wake me up for the day, any more would be excessive.”

“Why not indulge?”

“It’s not healthy.”

“Who said anything about being healthy? We are literally pigments of Thomas’ figmation—“

“—What?”

“Shut up. But we’re ligaments of Thomas’ dictation! We don’t have to worry about his health and wellness. That’s up to him to manage. We don’t have to care.”

Logan gnawed on his lower lip.

“I must be a good example for Thomas and the others,” he reasoned.

With a snap of the fingers, Remus summoned a glass of ice water with a lemon wedge on the rim and set it in front of Logan. He watched intensely as Logan picked the glass up, the ice quietly clicking against the glass. Logan sipped, eyes slipping shut. Remus rested his chin on his hand, staring at Logan with a dopey smile. The lemon smelled nice. 

He wanted to grab Logan and… something. The already blurry thoughts became already blurrier. Before him, Logan had his eyes shut. He was helpless. Truly. Like a wildebeest at the watering hole, ready to get snapped up in the jaws of a crocodile. Or held really close. Or torn apart. Or something. Remus picked up a piece of bacon with his bare hands, and ate it. He licked the grease off his fingers. 

“So, how do you think me being here will fuck up the chart?” Remus asked after a painfully long silence. He’d almost finished his plate. Logan straightened in his seat.

“Well. I doubt that Patton and Virgil will spend as much time as they do in the kitchen. Same with Roman. But we haven’t seen much of him.”

Remus snorted. God, his brother was such a fucking drama queen. 

“Roman gets his feelings hurt once and he gives you all the silent treatment and sulks about. My whole existence is an insult, he can fucking suck it up!” Remus crowed.

Logan raised his brows and blinked, lip twitching. 

“Sorry, what did you just say?” He heard Virgil growl. Remus looked away from Logan to see Virgil at the sink, washing his plate.

“I said, and I quote; ‘Roman gets his feelings hurt once and he gives you all the silent treatment and sulks about. My whole existence is an insult, he can fucking suck it up!’ And I’m not wrong.”

“Yes you are,” Virgil growled, “Roman has every right to feel the way he does since he doesn’t deserve to take any of yours or Janus’ shit.”

Remus rolled his eyes.

“God, don’t you realize that we’re literally the same person? I’m just the bits of Thomas that you’re scared of. Lower your hackles, pussycat. I’m just trying to make cross-i-aints.”

“It’s pronounced croissants!” Virgil snapped. Patton stood in the doorway of the kitchen. 

“Who’s to say?” Remus drawled.

“I’m to say!”

Remus giggled. 

“Oh come on, Virgil, I thought you hated Roman? Not as much as I do, of course, nobody hates him as much as me—“

“That’s changed,” Virgil growled, “A lot has changed.”

“You know what hasn’t changed?” Remus asked, standing up. “I’m still Creativity. Imagination. Passion. Just like Roman. He has everything, and still acts like that isn’t enough for him because he’s a selfish motherfucker.” Remus paused. “Selfish. Shellfish. Speaking of shellfish— Did you know clams can’t see or hear? Like Helen Keller! But am I wrong? Am I? About Roman being selfish, I mean. I know I’m not wrong about the Helen Keller thing.”

Virgil glared at him. 

“Yes, you are. Roman was the one to choose to go to the wedding. See, Remus? You’re always wrong. You are evil and perverse, nothing but a fucking nuisance. So shut up before I make you shut up.” Virgil shifted, standing up straight. “I’m not scared of you anymore.”

Remus tilted his head, smiling. 

“What’re you gonna do, you two-eyed no-horn walking purple penis eater? Punch me? I’m a peppermint of Thomas’ amalgamation or whatever it’s called, a punch won’t do anything.”

Patton stepped into the space between Remus and Virgil, hands raised and an awkward smile plastered on his face.

“Look, I think we should take a few deep breaths, calm down… this has gone far enough. Okay?”

Remus looked in his eyes. Yup, he was scared. Remus grabbed one of Patton’s hands and licked it. Patton recoiled with a squeak, wiping his hand on his pants. 

“Why are you even here?” Virgil asked.

“You already asked that, dick-nips.”

“Come on, kiddo,” Patton whined at Virgil, “he just made us breakfast. We can talk about this. Sit down and have a nice conversation. It’ll be okay—“

A hand touched Remus’ shoulder. Remus flinched hard, turning to see Logan, staring at Virgil cooly.

“Need I remind you both that Remus is a part of Thomas? We all are. And we have to share the kitchen. We need to learn to exist together. Deep breaths, Virgil. He’s not here to hurt any of us. He can’t hurt any of us.”

Virgil took a deep, slow breath, staring at the floor.

“Clams, like Helen Keller, are technically immune to flash-bangs,” Remus proclaimed.

The kitchen went silent for a moment. Virgil rolled his eyes and threw open the fridge. He grabbed a jug of orange juice, and drank straight from the jug, much to Patton and Logan’s dismay. Remus smirked, and sat down at the kitchen table. Logan joined them, then Patton, who stared at Virgil. 

“What?” Virgil said. Patton gestured to an empty seat at the table. 

“He made us breakfast, and he… Logan’s right. He is a part of Thomas. Sit down, kiddo. Please? For me?”

Virgil huffed. He looked at the fridge, then at Patton, then at Remus, again.

“Fine.”

Virgil put more eggs and bacon on his plate, then sat at the table. Remus cracked his neck.

“Stress eating, Virge? I haven’t seen you do that since—“

“Since Thomas was ten, before that choir concert.”

“You made him eat until he got sick.” Remus recalled. Virgil sighed, a small smile creeping onto his face.

“Yeah, I remember. Poor kid. He didn’t go to school the next day since I convinced him he was horribly sick...” Virgil shook his head, then looked up at Remus. “Wait. That was before the split. You weren’t you back then, were you?”

Remus snorted, smiling at Virgil. Oh, he remembered being whole. All that power and control over the world around him, like a raging fire. He drummed his fingers on the table.

“It’s like, erm, a Jackalope,” he explained, “With the antlers and the whole bunny thing? Or, uh, you know what scratch that. It’s like putting a dog and a bunny in a wood chipper!”

Patton squeaked in horror, eyes wide.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Virgil asked sharply. His hands tightened on the edge of the table.

“Well,” Remus responded, “the meat of the dog and the bunny get all mixed up, and you could make, like, a sausage of it. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a mix of two meats. Two meats, one sausage. So yes, I was me back then, just… not separated.”

“That makes sense,” Patton said, “Like how Garnet is made of Sapphire and Ruby.”

“Incorrect,” Logan said, “a garnet is a gem made of—“

“I was talking about Steven Universe, Logan.”

“...oh.”

Virgil slowly let go of the table. 

“That makes sense. That you would remember, I mean.”

The table went silent again. Virgil ate a bit of his bacon.

“Remus,” Patton said. “When did you start cooking?”

Remus watched Virgil pick at his food for a minute. He could taste the awkwardness in the air. A perfect palate cleanser.

“Who, me?” He started. “Well after Roman and I broke apart and I got punted into Thomas’ subconscious, I started smashing shit. Left and right. I destroyed all of the imagination I had authority over, I broke every single plate and cup in the kitchen—“

“So that’s what happened! You broke it! And here I thought it was an earthquake!” Patton exclaimed. Remus glanced at him, and he sunk back into his seat.

“Anyways,” Remus continued, “I tried, once the anger faded, to give Thomas ideas. To have my creations be made, have an impact, out there in the real world. Every single fucking idea scared him. No matter how hard I pushed and pushed and… then the anger I had returned full-force. Jannie was the one to suggest I cook. I learned to make something new after destroying. Since cooking is truly destructive. It’s taking something that’s already okay and beating it into submission, heating until the flesh crackles and the fat melts into grease, it’s smashing berries and breaking bones, pulling skin and fur from meat. It… yeah. And that’s when I started cooking!”

Remus smiled brightly, but his smile was met by the other three… not smiling. Virgil looked down at his plate, focused on his bacon. Patton’s eyes were teary and big, but even then he leaned back in his seat, as if bracing to run. And Logan just stared at him, mouth opening and closing.

“What is it, teach? Octopus got your tongue?”

“It’s nothing,” Logan said, “just parched.”

He sipped his water. The table remained silent, none of them brave enough to break the silence Remus had made. Honestly, Remus couldn’t figure out what the big deal was. So what he’d destroyed everything in his path for a solid three years after being yanked apart from Roman? His anger had been nothing but righteous, and it hadn’t exactly faded. But he’d found his way to cope— by destroying things, and making mosaics out of the pieces left over. God, he sounded fucking pretentious.

Footsteps, slow and steady, came from down the hall. Remus perked up, excited to get Janus in on this conversation. He practically froze in his seat when he saw who really stood there. 

In the doorway of the kitchen stood Roman, in his boxers and a white robe. Remus stared right at him. Roman’s tired eyes went big when he saw him. Remus imagined he was quite the sight, what with the pink apron and all. Roman’s eyes flitted from person to person, growing wider and wider. Virgil and Patton stood. 

“Kiddo, it’s okay,” Patton soothed, “come here, please.”

Roman backed away, then ran out of the kitchen. Patton chased after him, but Virgil lingered at the table for a second.

“Fuck you and your fucking bacon,” he snarled. 

“You have a bit of grease on your face,” Remus said. Virgil flushed and wiped at his cheek before turning and leaving, chasing after Patton and Roman. Logan casually checked his watch.

“That’s strange,” he said, “it’s nine twenty-three. Roman usually comes into the kitchen at ten thirty. He was an hour and seven minutes early.”

Remus shrugged. He didn’t really fucking care.

“He doesn’t usually run away from me,” Remus said. Logan shrugged.

“He probably thought we had replaced him with you. But who am I to say? I don’t understand him on a good day.” Logan said.

Remus blinked. Logan sipped his water.

“You… really seem nonchalant.”

“It’s not my problem unless Thomas decides it is.”

Remus snapped his fingers as Logan sipped from his drink, watching him sputter as the water turned to white wine. 

“What—“

“You’re acting like a stone cold bitch,” Remus said, “and I know full damn well you care. Hell, I’d say you cared too much about everything. You care about Roman. Now go fucking act like it before I pull your tongue out through your teeth.”

Logan sipped the wine slowly.

“I don’t care. I don’t have feelings—“

“You literally cried in front of me last night. That bullshit won’t work on me. Now go.”

Logan opened his mouth to argue, but then shut it. He stood and left the kitchen.

Remus snapped his fingers. The wine in Logan’s glass turned back into water. He sighed and flung the refrigerator open, taking the dough out as well as the butter. He laid the rectangle of butter in the middle of the dough, then folded, folded again, following the steps of the recipe. Hopefully, the dough hadn’t been chilled too long. He folded it once, twice, then put it in the fridge again.

Thirty minutes to rest, then he had to fold again. He hoped he didn’t fuck it up.

—

Thirty minutes passed. Laminating the dough was a quick process. The next thing he knew, he was tucking it back into the fridge. Now it was ten o’ clock. An hour until Janus would come get a cup of tea and lunch. Janus always liked to make lunch himself, or at least try. Most of the time Remus made it for him and Janus paid him in a cup of tea. But an hour was such a long time to be alone! Remus did a handstand. His apron fell in his face. 

None of the others had come back to the kitchen after they ran after Roman. And he hadn’t talked to someone since they left. So to put it simply, Remus was horribly, horribly bored. For a moment he considered searing some rabbit to draw Janus out of his room. But Janus probably wouldn’t be able to tell it was rabbit by smell alone. Remus stood back up, staring at the stove. He’d been so bored that he’d cleaned, and all the leftover bacon and bacon grease were in the fridge. He’d eaten all the eggs.

Remus sighed. He’d paced the kitchen back and forth, too nervous about the dough to sink out and too bored to think of something to do other than pace. If only he had someone to talk to…

Suddenly, an idea hit him like a brick to the face. Remus flapped his hands about, then rushed to the fridge. He yanked it open and rifled through the fridge, pulling out some bok choy. He pulled out some leftover chicken stock and ginger. He grated the ginger into the stock, then started chopping up the bok choy. He didn’t really know if it would work— the dish or what he had planned — but he could hope. He set the bok choy in a frying pan with a dash of sesame oil, chopping up a bit of chicken and garlic to go with it.

The meat had started to cook when he heard someone deeply inhale behind him. Remus turned around, already knowing who would be there.

“Orange,” he crooned at the shadowy figure crouched on the table, “it’s always a pleasure to see you!”

Orange tilted his head. It was hard to look at him, since he liked to keep his appearance a mystery. At least Remus could assume they would probably look alike, since they were all regiments of Thomas’ fixation or whatever. Remus tilted his head the other way.

“You were the one that called me here,” Orange said.

“Called you here?”

“You know I love bok choy.”

Remus smiled at him, turning back to his pan.

“I’m making what I hope is going to be a nice, like, chicken soup? With some bok choy. I might add dumplings. I don’t know.”

Orange inhaled slowly. He exhaled right by Remus’ ear. Remus giggled at the sudden sensation.

“It needs more time to cook,” Remus chided. Orange hummed.

“Why do you still keep doing this? Cooking. Every day. You do not need to eat, nor do you need to drink.”

Remus cackled.

“You needn’t eat or drink either dumb fuck!” 

“Bok choy is an indulgence,” Orange replied. He appeared floating above the stove, his shifting face right in front of Remus’. 

“So is cooking. I just so happen to indulge a lot.”

“Why eat three meals like a real person? You don’t need it.”

Remus rolled his eyes.

“Plants don’t need to flower.”

Orange stared at him quizzically.

“Yes they do.”

“Fruit doesn’t need to be sweet.”

“It just so happens to taste sweet.”

“It’s a little prank of fate, my Tangerine Dream,” Remus said, thwacking Orange with his spatula, “fruit is sweet, plants have flowers, and I like to cook. It might not make sense, or it may. Humans enjoy the sweetness of fruit and the smell of flowers, and I do this solely because it’s what I love, which is a valid reason to do it.”

Orange suddenly was behind him, breathing down his neck.

“You do it to run from the emotions you hold. I can sense it inside of you. The hatred. The anger. The grief. Overpowering and strong.”

“Like ginger. Shit, I think I added too much.”

Remus dipped his hand into the boiling broth, and took a little sip. Oh, that tasted heavenly! He licked each finger clean of the golden soup, except for the middle finger. That he offered to Orange, turning around and sticking it up at him.

“Is it too strong?”

Orange picked a bit of bok choy out of the pan, and put it in his mouth. 

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Of course you don’t.”

Remus turned back to cooking. Orange definitely wasn’t the best conversational partner he could think of, that would probably be Janus or Logan, but he hated being alone and Orange’s presence was good enough. They were the only dark sides left, they might as well get along.

“So why cook?” Orange asked, “Not just for yourself, but for the others, too?”

“You remember what the Grimacing Grimace said?” Remus coughed, then spoke in his best Virgil impression. “‘Not every thought has to have some profound meaning’ or whatever he said. So I just did it.”

“...Grimacing Grimace?” Orange asked.

“Yeah, like the weird McDonald’s mascot thing.”

“No, I mean. Who were you referring to. I wasn’t there for that conversation.”

“I was quoting Virgil.”

“Virgil the philosopher, or Purple?”

“Purple.”

Orange nodded.

“But what is your motivation?” Orange asked.

Remus looked at him.

“Uh, bitch, I don’t have motivation on a good day. Nor does my brother. Maybe depression runs in the family—“

“I’m not talking about that!” Orange spat, “I’m asking you why you so suddenly decided to go play house with the others the moment Yellow got a seat at the table. What, are you scared that he’ll leave you too? Like Purple? Like Red?”

Remus added the bok choy and the chicken into the soup. He mixed it vigorously, eyes locked on the golden broth. It needed salt. That he’d add last. What it could really use was a grain or starch or something, something grounded. Wontons? No, he missed his opportunity to add that to the dish. Rice. Rice would go well with this. 

“I don’t know,” Remus said calmly, “am I scared?”

“Scared of what?”

Remus practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of Janus’ voice. Looking over, he could see Janus in the kitchen doorway, staring at him curiously.

“Scared of nothing!” Remus exclaimed. “Salutations my sweet-and-sour serpentine slanderer, what brings you to the kitchen?”

“Tea, of course, what else?” Janus asked. Smirking, he ruffled Remus’ hair as he walked past him. Remus turned his focus back on the soup as Janus grabbed his favorite mug from the cupboard, and filled it with water. Remus snapped his fingers, and the water spontaneously boiled, letting off a plume of steam before settling down.

“Lunch and conversation with your favorite person, that’s what else. Is that the right way to phrase that?”

“Oh Remus, when did I say you were my favorite person?”

“I just know I am,” Remus said with a smirk.

“I absolutely loathe you, and you make my life a living hell.”

Remus smiled.

“Oh, Jannie, I’m positively blushing!

Janus rolled his eyes, but his smile was bright. Remus stirred the soup a little more, then took some instant rice out of the cupboard. He poured some into a pot, added water, and summoned a plume of green flame. The water instantly boiled, and the rice cooked in a flash. It certainly gave Remus a face full of steam.

“What’s for lunch, Gordon Remus?”

“Asian-inspired chicken soup with rice.”

“Asian-inspired? How much of Asia? Asia is a very large place, Remus.”

“I don’t know what else to call it!” Remus exclaimed. He poured each of them a bowl of soup. “I fuckin, cooked the chicken and put it in the broth. There’s sesame oil and like, other shit.”

He set the soup on the table, one bowl for himself and one for Janus. Remus grabbed two plates from the cupboard, and gave them each a bit of the rice. Then, he sat, and dug in, eating with his hands. Janus, meanwhile, summoned a pair of chopsticks.

“So,” Janus said, elegantly sipping his soup.

“So?” Remus said, mouth stuffed with rice.

“How are the cross-i-ants?” Janus asked. Remus swallowed the rice, then squinted at Janus.

“They’re called croissants you stupid little bitch.”

Janus delicately plucked a piece of chicken from his soup, then threw it at Remus, who leaned back and effortlessly caught it in his mouth. The chair tipped backwards, and Remus slammed into the floor with a thud. 

“Are you okay?” Janus asked. 

Remus gave him a thumbs up from the floor, then righted the chair and sat.

“I’m very okay! And so are the Croissants! They’re chilling right now. I need to reread the recipe. But I think they’re gonna come out super well!”

“I’m happy you’re enjoying this so much,” Janus said. He sipped his soup, and then his tea.

Remus chugged a bit of his soup, choking on a piece of bok choy.

“Yeah, it’s nice. Messing with the light sides, making lots of food— it’s a good time. Can’t say I’ll do it every day, but it’s a nice change of pace!”

Janus nodded. He picked at his rice. Over the years, Remus had learned a good deal about snake-human hybrids, or whatever Janus was. Janus would have a big meal every day, usually breakfast, then nibble at everything else Remus made him. 

“Speaking of a change of pace,” Remus said, “why don’t you ever eat your food raw? Like a real snake?”

“It’s undignified. I doubt you’d care.”

“Nope! Not at all. Did you see Roman? I’m pretty sure he left the kitchen crying after breakfast!”

Remus giggled. Surprisingly, Janus didn’t seem very amused. Instead, he furrowed his brows.

“What?”

“Yeah,” Remus said, “he came into the kitchen at like 9:30 and saw me then fucked right off! As he should! Logan said it wasn’t in his schedule for him to be there that early— oh and I told Logan about my little idea and he said that if you took Patton’s place it would probably emotionally scar Thomas or whatever but I still think you’d do a much better job than that washed up slap-happy pappy.”

Janus blinked.

“Okay. One thing at a time. Uh. I’m not taking Patton’s place. While he is misguided, he’s trying his best. Everyone has their flaws.”

“He’s an earthworm,” Remus reasoned, “Squishy and crushable but also necessary.”

“Exactly!” Janus exclaimed. He rewarded Remus with a soft smile before continuing. “But all that aside, I think that Roman’s absence and his shock upon seeing you is my fault.”

“Because of the whole evil twin thing? Yeah, I know—“

“He probably thought you were taking his place.”

Remus barked out a laugh. 

“What?”

Janus nodded.

“His place. In their ‘famILY’ or whatever they call it.”

Remus picked up a fistful of rice, shoving it in his face before chugging down his broth.

“I don’t want a place in their fucking whatever. He can take their love and he can have it. They’re scared of me, they hate me. Even Virgil does.”

“Logan doesn’t.”

Remus grinned.

“No, he doesn’t. But I don’t want Roman’s place. Even if I could take it, I wouldn’t. How about you? If you could permanently take Patton’s place, get all the love and attention that he gets, or at least, like, get that in general, would you? What would you do for that love? People have done much worse for much less— I mean Judas sold out Jesus for thirty pieces of silver, so what would you do for everything you’ve ever wanted?”

Remus had leaned across the table. His bowl of rice had spilled on the table. Janus stared blankly at him.

“All I want is for Thomas to have a good life.”

“We all want that. What would you do for that?”

“Unspeakable things,” Janus said, smiling softly. Remus beamed back at him, sitting down in his chair. It was a little weird since he wore only the apron.

Footsteps from down the hall, and Patton stepped into the kitchen. He froze at the sight of Remus, but managed to give a little wave to Janus.

“Do you want me to get you some tea, Patton?” Janus asked, standing from his seat. Patton mutely nodded.

“I have you pegged as a Jasmine man,” Remus said, doing his best Uncle Iroh impression. Then he giggled. “Haha, pegged.” 

If Patton looked uncomfortable before, he looked very uncomfortable now. He smiled softly, and Remus returned it with a sharp toothed grin. Janus, meanwhile, filled another cup with water and held it out to Remus. Remus snapped his fingers, and a burst of fire erupted from the teacup, followed by steam.

“There, nice and hot!” Remus exclaimed. Janus put a teabag in the cup, then picked up his own tea, walking over to Patton.

“Patton and I will be talking in the common room, Remus,” Janus said. Remus nodded.

“Actually, I’d uh, like to talk to Remus for a little bit,” Patton sheepishly said, “alone, if that’s ok.”

Janus raised an eyebrow. Remus shrugged. 

“Go ahead padre,” Remus practically purred, “lay it on me.”

Janus snorted, then left the kitchen, leaving Patton and Remus alone together. Patton nervously tugged at the sleeve of the hoodie wrapped around his shoulders.

“Uh, I want to talk about breakfast—“

“I knew I should’ve cooked the bacon for less time!” Remus shouted, “Virgil loves his bacon burnt to a fucking crisp, so I have to unlearn that after cooking for him for god knows how long.”

“It’s not about the food, the food was wonderful! It’s, um. About you and me?”

Remus blinked.

“Come again? You and me?”

“I mean— an apology. I’m sorry for how breakfast went, with Virgil picking a fight. I guess I’m still a little scared of you, but I shouldn’t be, since you’re a part of Thomas too. And Virgil was totally out of line. I’m sorry.”

Remus chuckled. He snapped his fingers, and all the plates on the table floated into the sink. Then, he stood, smiling at Patton.

“I don’t need to be apologized to. And Virgil has every right to be angry at me. I honestly wish he had thrown the first punch, that would’ve given me an excuse to beat him over the head with a frying pan until his skull was concave.”

Patton stared in horror at Remus.

“Kiddo,” he said softly.

“What I’m trying to say,” Remus continued, “is that I’m a stone cold slut. I don’t want to be a part of your family. I’m not your kiddo. I don’t need to be apologized to. We’re like coworkers, and nothing more. Go back to being scared of me. It’s much, much more fun!”

“No,” Patton said, “I’m not going back to being scared of you. I’m just trying to be nice! And— and you’re being a big bully. Why can’t we get along?”

“Because you despise me.”

Patton took a step forward, slowly reaching his hand out. Remus raised an eyebrow.

“What the fuck—“

“A handshake,” Patton timidly explained, “since you say we’re coworkers.”

Remus smiled, and firmly grasped Patton’s hand.

“For a silly little puffball, you surely have a pair of cojones. Well, you wouldn’t be a father if you didn’t.”

“Huh?”

A laugh burst out of Remus’ mouth, and he squeezed Patton’s hand, shaking it rapidly. Patton squeezed back, then leaned closer to him, grabbing his shoulder tightly.

“Listen,” Patton whispered intensely, “I’m trying to be nice, I really, really am, but remember this: If you ever threaten one of my— if you ever threaten my kiddos again, or hurt them, I’ll— I’ll end your miserable existence.”

Remus wheezed in surprised hilarity, yanking away from Patton’s hand on his shoulder. God, a death threat? He’d never gotten one from Patton before!

“Janus is a horrible influence on you!”

Patton flushed, letting go of Remus’ hand.

“He said I should be more uh, decisive? Decisive and direct. I think that’s what he said. And I don’t want the people I love to be hurt.”

“They’re not people..? Logan said it himself, object impermanence kinda stops me from doing anything permanent. But it is fun to scare you until the papa bear pops out. Black bears can run up to like, twenty five miles per hour. Isn’t that neat! There is no escape from a black bear.”

“I hate this conversation,” Patton quietly squeaked. Remus rolled his eyes.

“Ditto. Let’s make like coworkers, and only talk when it’s necessary, and not waste energy by actively hating one another.”

Patton nodded. He stepped backwards into the hall, and gave Remus an awkward wave before running off into the common room with Janus. Remus sat down at the table, shaking his head.

An apology. Patton had offered him an apology. The last thing he wanted from Patton was an apology. Honestly, he could only think of three people he wanted an apology from. Virgil, Roman, and Thomas. Virgil and Roman abandoned him. And Thomas locked him away.

Remus sighed. The dough was done. All folded nicely. Now came the four hours of waiting.

—

Unsurprisingly, neither Virgil nor Roman came to the kitchen for lunch. Janus stopped in at four for dinner, and so did Patton. They took some leftovers, then ate in the common room while talking about whatever. The hours passed slowly as he sat alone in the kitchen. Remus took the dough out of the fridge. He rolled it into a rectangle, then cut it into a bunch of tiny squares, then triangles, then to smaller triangles. After that, he delicately rolled them into croissant form, then let them rest for an hour. All that was left was the baking, after so much fucking time folding the dough.

The clock said it was about 5:00 pm. Making breakfast had set him an hour back, but Logan had promised he’d come eat the croissants with him. Maybe he was just waiting to smell them bake? Remus flapped his wrist, conjuring a flat metal tray. One by one, he placed the fragile little croissants on the tray. He got milk and eggs from the fridge, and mixed them together. Afterwards, he threw the mixture away because he forgot to crack the eggs before mixing them with the milk. He sighed.

“Are you about to bake them?” A steady voice said. Remus turned away from the bowl of egg wash, smiling when he saw who it was.

“Why, yes, I am! Now, you promised me you’d have one last night. Or the night before. Whatever it is.”

Logan nodded, and sat at the table, watching Remus slather the croissants in egg wash. Suddenly, Remus became very aware of the fact he was totally nude besides the apron. Huh. That usually didn’t happen. What was he, ashamed? Never.

“My observations thus far are very interesting,” Logan said, snapping Remus out of his spiraling thoughts, “Virgil and Roman both did not go into the kitchen after breakfast, choosing to go without food. They don’t need to eat, so it’s not very worrying to me.”

“Is it now?”

Logan shook his head, then sighed.

“Well, I’m worried about how their… mental health will affect Thomas.”

Remus sighed as he put the tray in the oven, then set the timer to twenty minutes. He sat down at the table, across from Logan, watching his eyes glance over him. 

“What if we were meat?” He asked. Logan raised his eyebrow.

“I beg your pardon?”

Remus bit back a comment about begging, and thumped his foot on the floor.

“I mean, like, what would you do if you were a human? And you had all the world laid out in front of you, not just the inside of Thomas’ puny, breakable little skull. What life would you make for yourself?”

Logan sighed.

“I can’t say for certain. The only life I want is a lifetime of learning. I guess I’d go to school for chemical engineering, then get a masters in the subject, or in chemistry, then become a professor of chemistry. Maybe even biochemistry.”

Remus leaned back in his chair.

“Sounds pretty fucking solid to me.”

“It isn’t,” Logan insisted, “you know how messy humans are.”

“Like when they’re smashed with a mallet and meat goes everywhere?”

“À la Gallagher?”

“Exactly!”

“I meant emotional messiness, but you’re not wrong,” Logan said. Remus beamed at him, setting his elbows on the table.

“I know I’m not. But go on?”

Logan cleared his voice.

“Say I am a human, and I have my life planned out by the year. Chemical engineering major, graduate school, becoming a professor. This does not account for human things, like the possibility of a depressive episode or a death in my hypothetical family.”

“Depression is a bitch.”

“No, it’s a mental illness. I can say that if it were a bitch, depression would be a chihuahua. A nuisance that makes no sense to me.”

“Depression doesn’t make sense to you?”

“Chihuahua’s don’t either, hence the comparison.”

Remus laughed, eyes wide.

“Really! Oh do go on.”

“Some chihuahuas have a soft spot in their skull called a molera. 80-90 percent of chihuahuas have this spot as pups. Most of the time it closes up. Many people used to think chihuahuas could cure asthma. In the late 1800’s and early 1900’s Mexican grooms would often give their wives bouquets with chihuahuas in them.”

Remus giggled again, leaning forward to rest his chin in his hands.

“What’s so confusing about that?”

Logan stared down at his hands, mumbling something Remus couldn’t hear.

“What was that?” Remus asked.

“I said,” Logan repeated, louder, “that I don’t understand how their eyes can be so big. And how so much anger can be stored in something so tiny. Did you know the American Kennel Club used to suggest breeders breed chihuahuas to be as small as possible?”

“Really makes you think of where we draw the line between dog and rat.”

“It’s a species thing. But I admit, I’m curious now. What would you do if you were human?”

Remus snorted. “What wouldn’t I do is a better question? I’ve basically been locked in a tower like Rapunzle for the past twenty odd years.”

Logan’s sincere eyes made him go quiet. Remus honestly couldn’t tell if Logan even cared, but those eyes made him want to scream and flip the table and jump out of the window. Fuck.

“I, uh. I would go to college for writing,” Remus said, “and filmmaking. And I’d get tattoos all over. And maybe some piercings. Things that I couldn’t undo, that nobody could undo. Then I’d write a ton of stories and make movies and scare an entire fucking generation but also make them cry and feel like they’ve never felt before. I don’t know what I would do after that. I’d probably tragically fall from grace, and everyone gets to watch me decay from a distance as my books and movies get weirder and weirder, then at the age of fifty six and a half, I’d disappear and never be seen or heard of again.”

Remus sighed dreamily. The whole situation sounded nice. Logan, however, looked more than a little startled.

“You really have given this thought, haven't you?”

Remus nodded, leaning back in his seat.

“I’ve not just been yelling at Thomas to jump out of a moving car for the past twenty something years, I’ve been doing a lot of shit that he finds scary. But you can understand where I’m coming from, right? Sometimes the best media deals with more mature themes.”

Logan looked away, sitting painfully straight in his chair.

“Thomas doesn’t seem to think so,” Logan said.

“Oh that is bullshit! Avatar the Last Airbender has genocide and like. Propaganda and shit. Steven Universe covers PTSD and war and dictatorships— honestly, he’s not scared of mature themes. He’s ashamed of the ideas, and scared he won’t pull them off well! That’s why he won’t deal with more important subjects in his videos!”

“You don’t know that,” Logan said calmly.

“Then why would he stifle me!” He shouted, standing up so suddenly it knocked his chair over, “Lock me away like a fucking monster! Why would he leave me alone!”

Remus’ eyes met Logan’s.

“Remus, are you alright?” Logan quietly asked. Remus smiled, waving his hands about.

“Hell yeah I am, dick-dork. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“...you don’t seem to be feeling well.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that!” Remus proclaimed.

“There isn’t,” Logan said, “but you helped me, so I feel like I should assist you. Do you want to, um, talk about it?”

Remus’ laugh turned into a sob. He left his chair on the ground, instead sitting next to Logan.

“You’d make a horrible Patton,” he joked, sniffling.

“Do you want to—“

“No,” Remus growled. 

“I’m sorry.”

Remus slammed both of his fists on the table, over and over until the pain finally registered to him, stinging and brutal. Then he stopped, as suddenly as he started.

“Why don’t you people understand that I don’t want an apology from you!” He bellowed, loud enough that it hurt his throat. “You did nothing wrong to me! Nothing! There’s nothing I should be mad at you for so I don’t deserve an apology!”

A warm hand settled on his shoulder. Logan’s. 

“Yes, you do. It’s not about deserving. Thomas sees everything as black and white, a worldview that led to your neglect. He’s going to unlearn that, learn that the world exists in shades of grey. Until the day he learns enough to forgive you, why not indulge in a bit of forgiveness?”

“I don’t need it,” Remus snapped. Logan squeezed his shoulder. It felt grounding. 

“And I didn’t need a lemon slice with my water this morning.”

Remus sat up straight, so sudden he made Logan lurch back.

“Ah fuck. You just. Fuck! You played me like the cheap kazoo I am!”

Logan raised his eyebrows, lips momentarily twitching into a smile.

“Funny. I thought that same thing about you last night.”

“We need to stop saying ‘last night’, like, seriously,” Remus joked, “it makes it sound like we’re fucking.”

“Your apron makes it seem that that is not something you would be adverse to,” Logan deadpanned.

Remus looked down at the apron. Ah, there it was. Fuck the cook. 

“God.”

“Religion.”

“Huh?”

Logan tilted his head. 

“I thought we were playing a word association game.”

“Well I mean, we have like, twelve minutes until the croissants are all done and baked! We can play a word association game until then.”

Logan nodded, shifting in his seat. Their knees bumped.

“May I begin?”

“Go ahead!” Remus said.

“Star,” Logan began.

“Sun,” Remus responded.

“Earth.”

“Rock.”

“Granite.”

“Countertop.”

“Kitchen.”

“Knife..?”

“Carving.”

“Dismemberment!”

“Dissection.”

Back and forth they went, going from dissection to cooking to flowers, only stopping when the oven dinged. Remus jumped at the sudden sound, which scared Logan, who lurched backwards until their knees no longer touched. Remus looked over at the oven, then at his knees.

“I think the croissants are done! Look at that! Wow, time flies when you’re having fun, holy shit.”

Logan blinked a couple of times, then nodded.

“Yes, it was an enjoyable time. Why did ‘pulmonary’ make you think of ‘plastic’?”

Remus shrugged.

“I didn’t know what pulmonary meant, but you connected it from lung, and I don’t know, it made me think of sarin, then saran, then plastic.”

Logan nodded, brows furrowing.

“You responded rather quickly to that word, I didn’t think you put that much thought into it.”

“My mind goes a mile a minute— lemme get the croissants. And you’re not going anywhere! You promised you’d have one.”

“That I did.”

Remus lept over to the oven, throwing the door open and grabbing the tray with his bare hands, setting the tray on the counter. God, they smelled delicious, baked and golden brown, slowly letting off steam. Logan looked at them with a straight face. For a smart guy, he really acted stupid.

“Fucking hypocrite,” Remus said, “it’s okay to show emotion.”

“I don’t—“

“Literally nobody else is here but me.”

Logan opened his mouth, then closed it again. At a loss for words. Remus sighed, and picked up two croissants off the tray. They felt so warm and delicate in his hands, like a little baby bird…

“Have you ever imagined squeezing a bird in your hands so hard it’s crushed?”

Logan blinked.

“I can’t say I have, but I don’t think it’s worth the mess. Birds belong in the sky.”

“And where do we belong?” Remus said, sitting down at the table. He gave Logan a croissant. “I mean. You have the light sides, I have the dark sides, and we both have the kitchen.”

“Interpersonal relations are not my strong suit,” Logan said, and he left it at that. He gently picked up the croissant, tearing a small piece off before putting it in his mouth. Remus watched as his eyes slowly slipped shut, Logan’s jaw closed as he savored the light, buttery layers of the croissant. Remus flapped his hands about, giggling to himself before taking his croissant and ripping it in half with his teeth. Oh, that’s heavenly!

“Oh,” Remus said, mouth full, “that’s heavenly! I can see why you chose this recipe, goddamn.”

“I chose it to study the habits of the others.”

“It’s not normal.” Remus stated. He looked at Logan, who had opened his eyes, brows furrowed. 

“I live with the others, I might as well—“

“Not the schedule, it makes you happy, so it’s meaningful. What isn’t normal is the fact that you have to act all prim and proper all the time for them to respect you. You should be able to let loose, indulge.”

“But what if they won’t listen?” Logan asked, voice shaking.

Remus snapped his fingers. Two glasses of ice cold water appeared before them, each with a lemon slice on the rim. 

“Make them.”

“I don’t think I could—“

“You are literally the brains of the operation! Not only that, but you beat me fair and square when I showed up, and I’m absolutely certain you could do it again. I’m pretty sure you could do it right now. You’re a force to be reckoned with. All of Thomas’ intellect in a sad little indigo dressed man. You’re a person, or at least a part of a person. Not a robot. Not a shell. Okay?”

Logan silently nodded. He ate the rest of the croissant, not even chewing, just setting it in his mouth and letting it dissolve. Logan swallowed, then smiled softly, so small Remus almost missed it. It felt like his heart had joined the croissant in his throat. Remus swallowed hard. Then, he smiled back, all teeth, and stuffed the rest of the croissant in his mouth. They ate in silence for a while, simply enjoying the croissants. Logan slowly sipped his water after each bite.

“What should I make next?” Remus asked. Logan looked down at the tray of croissants. Remus grabbed one off the tray, and passed it to Logan.

“Thank you. Why not something with seafood? Maybe paella?”

Remus’ eyes went big. 

“Oh, I absolutely fucking love clams and mussels! That’s in paella, right? Yeah? God, Logan, this is why we need to talk more, you fucking genius!”

“Thank you very much. I hate to ask, but would you mind if I took some croissants back to Virgil, Patton and Roman..?”

Remus leaned back in his chair.

“Leaving so soon?”

Logan paused. He stood slowly.

“I don’t have—“

“Go ahead and take them. Just leave one for Jannie.”

“I’ll only need three.”

“Take an extra for yourself, you’re the reason I made them after all.”

Logan froze like a deer in the headlights, hand hovering over the tray. Carefully, he picked up three croissants, then looked Remus in the eye. Remus nodded towards the tray. Logan grabbed a fourth. 

“Remus?”

“I’m right here,” Remus said, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head.

“I just wanted to thank you. For the croissants, and for the conversation.”

And he smiled, just a little bit of teeth showing.

Remus felt that strange feeling, the one without direction or space, just energy. Thoughts fluttered through his head, and he wanted to rip, tear, kiss mend, bake, create, destroy—

“I enjoyed every minute of it,” Remus said, throat dry. 

With that, Logan waved goodbye, then promptly left. Now Remus sat alone at the table. When would Jannie come for his croissant? Maybe he wouldn’t. Remus drummed his fingers on the table. He could stand from the table, and chase after Logan like a loyal mutt. Or he could go find Janus. Or he could take out the bok choy and split the croissants with a fellow dark side.

Instead, he sat at the table, drumming his fingers, trapped in his head.

He stared at Logan’s glass of water until the ice cubes melted. 

—

Thirty minutes later, Janus showed up. He sat down at the table, and wordlessly took a croissant. Remus drummed his fingers on the table.

“Are you okay?” Janus asked. He nibbled the croissant.

Remus snorted, waving his arms around.

“I honestly have no fucking clue!”

Janus smiled and laughed, biting into the croissant. Remus did so, too, and tried to force down the strange, directionless feeling now associated with Logan’s face.

Janus and him shared the rest of the croissants, leaving only crumbs and the tray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not fucking think this fic would get to 10k words. I honestly didn’t think I would even get 5k. But Remus is a wordy motherfucker and tends to make conversations go all over the place. I had a ton of fun with this chapter, not only getting to explore Remus’ relationships with the other sides, but also how he works. If you think “wow he has a lot less internal stuff than Logan” that is 100% right. 
> 
> Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed reading this. Find me at tumblr at palpalbuddypal or Mianite-3-unofficial.
> 
> Leave a comment and a Kudo. You guys are the reason I write.


	3. Grocery Gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Logan explore the imagination

It had been a little over a week since Remus made the croissants, and the daily routines still hadn’t quite recovered. At breakfast, Virgil showed up ten minutes later than usual, and stood nervously in the doorway, checking to make sure nobody unexpected would be in the kitchen. Roman never came to visit the kitchen, but Patton brought him meals three times a day— 9:30 am, 1:20 pm, and 5:50 pm. Virgil would occasionally join him. 

Patton and Janus still met for tea every single day, but they never stayed in the kitchen anymore. Patton would ask Janus to take walks with him. They’d stroll through Roman’s side of the imagination, then drink their tea and talk. The only reason Logan knew this was because Patton brought it up at dinner one night. Virgil left shortly after. 

The only people who remained unaffected were Remus and him. They kept to their usual schedules. Except now Logan found himself staying up late to talk to Remus while he cooked. He had yet to make paella— something about wanting to save it for a special occasion.

Every day felt like a special occasion. Logan couldn’t help but stare at the charts he had made, one pre-Remus, and one post-Remus. Color coded and organized. Pristine.

“It’s surprising,” Logan had said at breakfast that morning, eating some waffles Patton had made, “that Remus spending one day in the kitchen threw all of our schedules into chaos.”

Virgil glared at him silently. Patton stared down blankly at his waffles.

“I don’t like him,” Patton murmured.

“You seem to get along with Deceit just fine,” Virgil spat, lip twitching in silent anger. Patton sighed.

“His name is Janus, Virgil. Be polite.”

“Why should I care?”

“Because it’s rude to call him Deceit— Logan, how would you feel if we only called you Logic?”

Logan sat straight. If he said he didn’t care, that would be mostly honest. If he said he did care, that would make it seem he had some sort of emotional attachment to his name. He swallowed.

“I don’t care either way. However, Janus now seems to prefer we address him by his real name. Besides, deceit is not his only function.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, staring angrily down at his plate of waffles. That was the end of the conversation at the breakfast table. Logan ate in silence, slowly sipping water out of a glass with a lemon on the rim. 

Now, he sat at his desk. The clock said it was 2:28 pm. The kitchen would be perfectly empty, since Virgil and Patton no longer had their little talks in the kitchen. Logan didn’t know where they went, and he didn’t care to ask. Of course he worried about them, but he didn’t think where they talked mattered so much. He set down his pen, thinking of when Roman had run from the kitchen in horror, Remus doing nothing but sitting at the table.

Suddenly, someone knocked at his door. Logan stood from his comfortable office chair, and walked to the door. He adjusted his tie and smoothed his hair down before calmly opening it. That calm facade almost broke when he saw Remus on the other side, wearing a painfully bright yellow bucket hat, a fishnet shirt, and a green pair of cargo shorts. He had a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hello, Remus.”

“You remember how you said I should make paella? Well I thought real long and hard and I thought that you could not only help me with the cooking but you could also help me with gathering the shit that goes in it! Like clams and mussels. One recipe says squid but I’ve honestly never cooked with squid and I’m not interested in fucking with that.”

Logan blinked, slowly trying to take in the information, and the sight of Remus before him. Remus never came to his room. Nobody did. It seemed like there had been an unspoken rule made, that he was never to be interrupted. Now the matter at hand.

“You want me to accompany you in collecting the ingredients?”

Remus nodded violently, causing the bright hat to flop off his head. He picked it up, and put it back on. Logan blinked.

“I’ll take that as a yes. And this involves going under the water?”

“No shit Sherlock! That’s where the mussels are! Unless you count these guns—“ Remus flexed his arms, a stunning smile on his face. Logan looked at the bag he carried, then to the yellow hat on his head.

“I think it would be best if you changed into something more… sensible.”

Remus wagged his brows, leaning up against the doorway.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m wearing a speedo under these shorts.”

“I meant the hat. It will make you very, very visible.”

“It’s okay,” Remus rebutted, “I think fish are colorblind. Maybe. Do you know?”

Logan gnawed on the inside of his lip. He didn’t know. He couldn’t say so, that would be seen as weakness. But Remus was… different, somehow, uncaring about strength and weakness. He took a slow, deep breath.

“I honestly don’t know,” Logan responded, “most fish only see two colors, but I’m unsure how many can see yellow. However, if your plans are to go underwater, it would be wise to forgo the hat.”

Remus shrugged, took off his hat, and tossed it into Logan’s room. It landed on the neat sheets of his bed.

“We won’t be in the water the whole time,” Remus said, “we still have to get other things? Like, erm, I don’t have the recipe on me but we’re almost out of apples, and honey— honey will be a bitch to get but you know what I have?”

Logan furrowed his brows, staring at the bag.

“A beekeeping suit, a smoker, and an apiary of some sort?”

“Nope! Just my morning star and overwhelming hubris!”

Logan didn't know what he’d expected. Of course Remus wouldn’t go about getting honey in any sort of logical way. 

“There are other things we will need.”

“You have a special request?”

Logan shook his head.

“I don’t. But paella requires saffron,” Logan explained. “Saffron is derived from the stigma of Crocus sativus.”

“Huh? What’s uh….” Remus trailed off, snapping his fingers a few times. “What’s the common name of that?”

“They are also known as autumn crocus, or saffron crocus. Do you know where these flowers grow?”

Remus raised his eyebrows, tapping his fingers to one another— thumb to index, thumb to middle, thumb to ring, thumb to pinkie. 

“Lemme think… I have a spice garden in my side, but I didn’t know that saffron came from a fucking flower! But I do have a bit of land I could… flowers. Goddamn! Saffron from flowers! That’s pretty cool! I have to ask— how did people think of putting it on shit?”

Logan suppressed a smile as Remus flapped one of his hands a little. It felt nice, being asked harmless questions, not being interrupted. Even then, he couldn’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop, for Remus to tell him to shut up. He took a deep breath.

“It is commonly believed that saffron originated in Greece, however most of it is grown in Iran, I believe.” He paused, giving Remus ample time to say something. Instead, Remus waved his hand at him.

“Well? Go on.” 

Logan shifted from foot to foot.

“Saffron is incredibly expensive due to the fact that one flower only produces three strands when it blooms, and the flowers only bloom for one week each year. Saffron has been used and cultivated by humans for more than three thousand and five hundred years, and has been used not only as a seasoning, but also as a dye, fragrance, and medicine.”

Remus grinned, eyebrows raised. 

“Cocaine used to be used as a medicine! Freud diagnosed it to some of his patients for depression, I think! Did you know that cocaine, like meth, can cause people to hallucinate vermin crawling under their skin? And they’ll scratch at their skins to get them out!”

“Ah, yes, delusional parasitosis, also called formication.”

“Fornication?”

Logan shook his head.

“I doubt formication and fornication could be mistaken for one another, unless ones idea of fornication is subdermal penetration.”

“Oh, talk dirty to me!” Remus cried, rolling his shoulders. Logan couldn’t stop his lips from twitching up into a small smile, but turned his expression back to a straight face as quickly as he could. 

“So what are you looking to retrieve?” Logan asked. Remus reached into one of the many pockets of his cargo shorts, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He dramatically unfolded it.

“Apples, honey, saffron, I guess, and mussels and clams and whatever else we may find. So is that a yes?”

Logan paused for a moment. He’d been to Roman’s side of the imagination, and the land was bright and beautiful, filled with fantastical creatures and lush landscapes. However, Remus was the opposite of Roman, or at least the bits of creativity that Thomas considered unpleasant enough to purge from his consciousness. So what did that include? The horrifying, the macabre, and the explicit. Dicks, drugs, and the disturbing. None of it could hurt him. And judging by the fact Remus sought him out to come with him, he wouldn’t even be threatened. As long as he was cautious, he would remain unharmed during their journey. That was reasonable enough to assume.

But what about the others? He would be expected back at dinner, which was at five pm. That would only give him two and a half hours with Remus, and time seemed to go much faster while around him, probably something to do with how Remus’ nature distorted reality around him, that reality including the way one would perceive time passing. Logan looked into his room. If he left the door closed, the others wouldn’t bother him. Patton would leave dinner outside of his door, he’d done it before, many times, but he wouldn’t come in. So he could miss dinner. If they asked questions, he could say he was busy. And they’d believe him.

Logan stared at the yellow bucket hat, garish and blinding on top of his sheets. He swallowed.

“Yes, I will accompany you.”

Remus flapped his hands expressively, smiling like a million and a half suns. He hopped from foot to foot, then did a little spin. 

“Fuck yeah! I’ll let you get changed, meet me in the kitchen as soon as possible! It’ll be so much fun!”

Just as Logan opened his mouth to tell Remus he would be wearing his usual clothing, Remus sprinted away. He let out a deep sigh. He wore his usual outfit— black dress pants, a black polo, indigo tie, dress shoes. Comfortable and professional. If he were to open his closet, there would be exact clones of the exact same outfit. Of course there was always the clothing he wore on Halloween, but a bulky, velveteen coat would be even less practical. The Sherlock costume would be out of the question, and he’d long since gotten rid of his onesie. 

So that left him in his typical outfit. However, the tie around his throat could possibly get caught and damaged. Logan touched his striped indigo tie, and slowly loosened it. Halfway through doing so, he realized he would look like an absolute fool without his tie. Even to Remus. Logan pulled the tie tight, so tight it almost choked him, and walked out of his room, slowly shutting the door behind him.

Logan silently crept through the hallway then down the stairs, making sure to skip the one squeaky step. If Virgil caught him with Remus, willingly spending time with him… well, he didn’t know how he would react. Virgil hated him, saw him as a nuisance, and there certainly was some history between the two of them. He had no clue what, despite the fact Virgil had once been a ‘dark’ side. 

He stepped into the kitchen. Remus sat on the table, kicking his legs back and forth. Somehow, even wearing those ridiculous clothes, he looked like he belonged in the kitchen. Logan pushed his glasses up. Remus smiled at him, hopping off of the table and grabbing his arm in a tight grip. His hands felt burning hot.

“Are you ready to go?”

Was he? If the others—

“—Yes, I am.”

Remus tugged on his arm, and they both sunk down into the white tile of the kitchen floor.

A gust of warm, sweet air hit him in the face. Logan gasped at the sensation, staggering backwards. He tripped on a stone, and landed on his ass in tall grass. All around them grew wildflowers and grass, and the clouds gently danced in the sky. The flowers swayed in the wind, blossoms of all hues growing around them. Truly, a beautiful landscape. Strange.

“Is this your side of the imagination?” Logan asked, ignoring Remus’ offered hand in favor of standing up by himself. 

“Yup! Wild and uncivilized. I had an idea for a monster— it’s an intelligent being that’s made of fungi that connects to the roots of plants, like how a brain makes neuron paths! Earth brain! We’re currently standing upon the brain of the smartest being in the imagination! Well, except for you, now that you’re here.”

Logan nervously looked down at his feet, face flushed. He really didn’t want to ask what the thing looked like, but his curiosity begged him to. His ego, meanwhile, preened at the small praise.

“Does it have a body?” Logan asked, “does it need to feed?”

“Yes to both questions!” Remus proclaimed, “The body is like. Laying down sort of? It’s like a big, smart pancake! And it eats! Don’t worry, it won’t eat us. Or any other side. Or cows since it’s lactose intolerant. But it won’t eat any sentient beings, like us sides! Except for Roman and his creations of course.”

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Why only him?”

Remus twirled around, then pointed off into the distance. Logan looked to where he was pointing, and there in the horizon he spotted a massive palace, one he immediately recognized as belonging to Roman.. 

Remus opened his mouth, then suddenly shut it, a manic smile splitting his face. 

“Look, here comes a unicorn! Oh, you’ll love this.”

And just as Remus had said, a white stallion with a gleaming horn pranced into the field of flowers. It wandered forward, then bent down and started to graze. As it opened its mouth to take a bite, the plants suddenly burst to life, wrapping around the unicorn. It fought and kicked as the thick grass dragged it to the ground— no, into the ground, as if the prairie earth had turned into quicksand. The unicorn whinnied and thrashed, until it was pulled fully under the ground, horn disappearing in the thick foliage. 

“It absorbs its prey, like a protist.” Logan said breathlessly. If he could feel, he wouldn’t know if he felt shocked or impressed. 

“Yeah! This land, in like a mile wide stripe, is the border between my land and Roman’s. And I don’t want anything to do with his shit. So anything that comes over here gets chomped up by Bartholomew!”

“Bartholomew?” Logan asked.

Remus crouched, patting the ground. He flopped onto his front, pressing a little kiss to the earth.

“It goes by Bart for short. And don’t worry, we had a conversation and it’s fine with it/its pronouns. Anyways what should we get first?”

Logan stared at the earth, shifting from foot to foot. Thousands of questions were bubbling in his head, but Remus had brought him to gather ingredients, not to ask questions. 

“Apples,” he croaked out. Remus leapt to his feet, looking him in the eye.

“I said it won’t absorb you. It only eats Roman and Roman’s shit. And even if you did get eaten, you’d be able to sink out. You’re safe.”

Logan inhaled slowly, then let out a deep breath. He didn’t care if he was safe. He wanted to ask how Bartholomew dissolved its prey, what acid it used to break down prey, he wanted to ask about the ph of the soil—

“Let’s go get the apples,” Logan insisted.

Remus nodded.

“The orchard is like, ten miles away? I don’t know but I can teleport us. Will it make you puke? Since Jannie told me that when he and Patton were in the imagination they saw Roman and Roman teleported them away from him and then Patton puked his guts up!”

“I don’t puke,” Logan explained, “I’m not human, and I can’t pretend to be.”

“You are a part of a human. Anyways, let’s go!”

Remus grabbed his arm, and the world shifted around them, the ground fell out from under his feet— for an instant, he felt like he was flying and falling all at the same time.

Then the ground appeared again. Logan stumbled. The sun was filtered through the branches of tall trees, taller than any apple tree he’d seen. The ground felt hard, and thorny bushes grew between each massive tree. Strangely enough, even though the air felt warm, the branches had no leaves, as if winter was coming. Logan looked down at his feet. The earth was covered in a layer of frost. He crouched down and touched it, and his fingers brushed coarse weeds and warm frost.

“This is fascinating,” Logan said. He scooped a little bit of frost into his hand. It didn’t melt. 

“How so?”

“Where do I start? The trees— they’re far too tall to be apple trees, yet they still bear fruit. And they have no leaves, which raises the question of how they perform photosynthesis. Not only that but the ground is covered in frost, and the frost is warm. The frost is warm, but it also doesn’t melt in my touch. Truly fascinating.”

Remus flicked his wrist, and a red apple the size of a fist fell into his palm.

“I like the way that frost looks, but I fucking hate the cold! So I made this place! And the branches are high so I can climb them and see out above the entirety of the land! But if you take issue with the height of the trees…”

Remus took a bite of the apple. He stomped his foot. Suddenly, one of the trees shrank, smaller and smaller, until it was the size of an actual apple tree. Ripe, beautiful apples hung off the branches.

“There,” Remus said, “that should be low enough for you to reach.”

“I’m not that much shorter than you,” Logan said, “do you have something to keep the apples in?”

Remus reached into the bag, and pulled out a wicker basket. Logan almost asked how he managed to do that, but realized it would be pointless. This was Remus’ land, it ran by his rules.

“I have a question!” Remus proclaimed.

“Go ahead,” Logan said, silently glad Remus had gone back to asking questions.

“Why are you so touchy about shapeshifting? Like. You never do it. I mean when the cameras aren’t rolling. You look exactly like Thomas and you never change it up!”

Logan froze. He pulled an apple from one of the branches and set it carefully in the basket.

“Patton is emotionally unstable. Virgil is a ticking time bomb. Roman tends to prioritize fantastical ideals over reality. Janus is level headed, but Thomas only just accepted him. And I’m unsure if he’ll ever accept you.”

Remus took another big bite of the apple.

“And what does this have to do with you not shapeshifting?”

Logan sighed.

“Thomas needs someone to be steady. Someone for him to rely on and trust no matter what the situation is. I don’t want to lose his trust.”

Remus giggled. Logan picked another apple.

“He trusts Patton even when he’s a fucking puppet. It’s not about trust, is it?”

Logan set the apple down in his basket.

“How many of these do we need?”

“Fuck if I know, fill the basket. But if it’s not about trust, then what is it about?”

Logan picked an apple, staring at the deep red color. He rubbed it against his polo, and he could see his reflection.

“Thomas hasn’t been listening to me as much as he should. I’m hoping that if I maintain the same appearance as him, he’ll be more inclined to listen to what I have to say.”

Logan stared at the apple. He shouldn’t be here. If the others found out he’d spent so much time with Remus, then what would they think of him? Would they consider him a friend anymore? That plus the fact he was picking apples, something they didn’t even need to do because they could be summoned with the snap of a finger. He didn’t need to eat. Logan set the apple in his basket.

Remus hummed. He flicked his wrist again, and apples began to rain from the sky. They struck the ground hard enough to bruise, and the noise they made was thunderous.

“Do you think the apple rain helps or diminishes the experience of apple picking?”

Logan stared up at the sky— cloudy, with a chance of apples.

“I don’t think catching apples in a basket counts as picking.”

“But it does count as fun!” Remus insisted.

“It’s not very effective.”

“Really now? Watch this!”

Remus pulled another wicker basket from the bag, and held it above his head. One, two, three apples hit the basket hard. The fourth made a sickening crunch as it hit the basket, and Logan flinched.

“What was that?”

“Some of the apples have bones!”

Logan furrowed his brows, looking at Remus. Another apple fell into his basket, thankfully lacking the crunching.

“An odd feature for an apple to have. What are the purpose of the bones? Structural stability? Do the bones assist in reproduction?”

“None of that!” Remus responded, “I just like the crunch! And Jannie likes the extra calcium!”

Logan nodded. Somehow, the fact that nothing made sense was logical. This was Remus’ land, it obeyed him. He plucked another apple from the tree.

“You know, Logan,” Remus said after a moment, basket held over his head, “I think you’re Eve.”

Logan raised his eyebrow.

“And what do you mean by that?”

Remus shrugged. Another apple landed in the basket with a crunch.

“Well, you see, Eve ate the apple from the forbidden tree, because she wanted to know the difference between good and evil, she wanted to see like god. In all honesty, I don’t think she was tricked. She knew what she wanted. She knew what she was getting into. She was just scared to be held liable. She was scared of the judgement.”

Logan plucked another apple from the tree. He had to stand on his toes to reach it. What Remus was saying made no sense. If God had dropped him in the garden and told him to not eat the apple, he would’ve followed the rules. And he certainly feared no judgement. Certainly.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t? So you would have rather stayed ignorant? Unharmed by what you don’t know?”

Logan froze. Remus continued talking.

“I remember Janus told me you really went off at him when he suggested that ignorance is bliss. So, I think you’re just like Eve. I mean, would you give up peace for knowledge?”

Logan plucked another apple. Of course he would. What he wanted more than anything was a life full of books and reading, knowing everything there was to know. Being an academic.

“That isn’t my choice to make. Thomas has chosen his path in life.”

“But what if it was your choice? Then what would you do?”

Logan picked another apple. The basket was close to full.

“I would choose knowledge. I have told you what I would do as a human, I would pursue knowledge above all. I wouldn’t be able to stop my pursuit. I would never be satisfied.”

Remus snapped his fingers, and the apple rain stopped as suddenly as it started.

“Wisdom cries out in the street; in the squares she raises her voice. Proverbs 1, verse 20. You’d never be able to stop learning once you started. Which I think is pretty cool!” Remus looked him dead in the eye, lowering his basket from his head. “You’re a passionate guy, Lo. Show it. I liked hearing you talk about saffron. And if they won’t listen? Then—“

“Then make them listen. Yes. You said it before.” Logan sighed. “I must admit, I don’t think I would be able to. Once they see me as a joke, it’s over. I’m only listened to when I’m being used to counter something that inhibits Virgil and Patton. For example, when you and Janus first appeared. I… I think we have enough apples.”

Remus took his basket, full of apples, and shoved it into the bag. Logan gave him his basket, and watched Remus make it disappear.

“If they won’t listen to you just because they see you act improperly, because they see you smile and feel happy, then they’re a bunch of hypocrites that I want to punt into the fucking sun.”

Logan took a deep breath in. A tiny little voice inside of him screamed to lash out, punch a tree in anger and frustration and pain, but that would be illogical. The apples had been picked. That was all. Now saffron, or honey, or whatever Remus would drag him to next. Then he’d be back in his room, asleep in his chair, then in the morning—

“I honestly don’t know why you care so much,” Remus said.

Logan exhaled.

“They’re all I have.”

Remus set a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, you’re have me now, too. Let’s go get the saffron!”

The earth suddenly fell out from under his feet. Logan couldn’t help the surprised yelp that escaped his mouth, hand flying out to grab Remus’ arm. Then as quickly as it disappeared, the earth came back, and his feet hit the ground. He yanked his hand away from Remus, brushing invisible dust off of the front of his shirt. 

They had appeared in a desert. The sun beat down bright and strong, no clouds in the sky to inhibit it. His feet sank into the sand. A harsh wind kicked up the sand, and it flew around in a flurry like a blizzard. Logan gazed at the horizon. Nothing for miles and miles, just sand, low and level.

“Is this where you find saffron?” Logan asked. Remus crossed his arms.

“You should know better than anyone that flowers can’t grow in a desert! And besides, I just found out saffron came from flowers. So I have to grow them!”

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Why bring us to a desert then?”

Remus smiled.

“Oh, you’ll see.”

Remus turned away from him. He raised his hands out, like he was conducting a band. He slowly breathed in. Logan felt the sand under his feet shift, pull together, and shake. Logan’s eyes went wide.

“What’re you—“

Remus turned back to Logan, eyes filled with fire.

“What is the best condition for crocuses, Logan?”

Logan swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

“Saffron crocuses bloom in early to mid fall, and prefer sandy loam and lots of sunshine. They prefer soil with good drainage, as well as a pH range of 6.0 to 7.0. Crocus grow best in hardiness zones 5 through 8, not too hot, but not too cold either.”

A cool, fall breeze ruffled Remus’ hair and the fishnet shirt he wore. Logan raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t tell the temperature, but it certainly had gotten cooler.

“What is sandy loam?” Remus asked, knocking Logan’s train of thought off the tracks.

Logan paused for a moment. Remus really wanted to know. But why? The imagination didn’t follow the laws of physics or nature, why would he want to know? He said he liked hearing him talk. But did he?

“Sandy loam is soil that, while containing silt and clay, has primarily sand in it. It is a good soil for gardening because of its draining abilities… Does it matter?”

Remus tilted his head.

“Well, if you were to be making a big ol’ crocus field, you’d care about the soil! Everything about it! So since it matters to you…”

Remus smiled brightly, and grabbed Logan’s arm, tugging him. Logan let himself be pulled, finding himself right in front of Remus, stumbling as the ground shifted under his feet. Bright sand melded together and changed, turning into dark, rich earth. Logan knelt, scooping a little bit into his hand. Sandy loam. 

The soil in his hand moved, like a miniature earthquake. A small, green sprout rose from the dirt, reaching towards the sun. Delicate green leaves grew, and so did a small, purple bud. It opened. Vibrant amethyst petals showed themselves to him, but so did three red stigma. Saffron.

“My god,” Logan said, “that was amazing!”

Remus snorted out a laugh.

“What, you've never seen Roman do something like that?”

Logan shook his head. Roman preferred to run his side of the imagination like an actual human kingdom, planting saplings and waiting patiently for them to grow. Sometimes, he’d see Roman in the wheat fields, harvesting wheat with a large iron scythe, just how a human would do. He let everything take its time, and grow at its own pace. 

“Really?” Remus crowed. “Well then— watch this!”

Remus cackled, and snapped his fingers.

The ground shifted under Logan’s knees, and hundreds of little green sprouts poked out from the dark earth, basking in the gentle sunlight. Glorious purple buds opened to reveal perfect crocuses, each with three sprigs of saffron inside. Logan gazed out to the horizon. The desert had turned to a field of purple, as grand and never ending as a sunset.

Logan’s jaw dropped open in shock. For miles and miles, nothing but crocus…

“Amazing,” Logan whispered, “absolutely amazing.”

With a thud, Remus sat down next to him. He leaned forward, and tore one of the crocuses from the ground, holding it up to Logan. Then, the petals shuddered, as if blown by an invisible wind, merging and shifting until they had formed a purple frog.

“Look,” Remus exclaimed, “it’s a croak-us!”

Logan couldn’t help but snort with laughter, covering his mouth quickly. His eyes went wide. Remus didn’t seem to have any intention of poking fun at him for laughing, but it was better safe than sorry. Though he couldn’t help but think of Remus, sat at the kitchen table in nothing but an apron, saying that he’d beaten him fair and square, and could do so again. Logan lowered his hand from his mouth, chuckling quietly. It was a pretty funny pun.

"Yes," Logan opened his mouth, closed it, then exhaled. "'It's quite ribbit-ing." 

Logan looked up, meeting Remus’ eyes. There was no judgement, no smugness. Remus looked absolutely fucking delighted, a manic glint in his eyes.

"You've toad the line!” Remus cackled. Logan laughed quietly, staring right at the little frog in the flower, trying to think of another frog pun. His brows furrowed in thought. 

"Did you know that in South America, there's a species of big frog with enough poison to kill two thousand men?” Remus said, interrupting Logan’s train of a thought. 

"I don't believe that's true. The golden dart frog grows only up to five millimeters, as opposed to the goliath frog, which can grow up to three-hundred and twenty, and weigh just over four pounds."

“Damn, you know a lot about frogs,” Remus said, “it’s pretty cool!”

“I researched them extensively after Patton turned into one, just in case another problem arose.” 

They stared at each other, much too long to be considered normal. Remus's lips twitched. The silence grated on Logan’s nerves. Had he said something wrong? 

“Would you like to play a word association game?” Logan nervously asked.

"Part two: Electric Boogaloo!" Remus exclaimed, startling the croak-us enough to hop into the fields of its former kin.

He brought his hand down onto Logan's in a low five, purple petals smeared onto his palm. Remus was still grinning, parts of his moustache standing on end, like he'd been shocked. Electric Boogaloo. Remus sat, cross-legged in the new soil so they were face to face. Logan brushed against him, and felt the burn of a spark go out on his leg. Electric Boogaloo, again.

"Vampire,” Remus said.

Logan’s mind jumped to when Virgil had dressed as a vampire for halloween.

"Halloween."

“Black?”

"Orange."

"Bok choy!” Remus chirped.

Logan paused. What led to that connection? Remus shrugged.

"Plant,” Logan said, brushing off his previous confusion.

"Maple.”

"Canada.”

"Pancakes."

"Syrup."

"HONEY!"

Remus snapped, loud as a cracking whip. Logan watched him shake a freshly printed page he clutched in his hand, peering at it intensely. 

“It says on our list that we need honey!”

Logan looked back out at the field of crocuses. Every single one of them had three sprigs of saffron inside, red and beautiful. He could smell it, the aroma beautiful and heavy. 

“We have to harvest the saffron first, for the paella. How much will we need for the recipe, Remus?”

Remus sighed.

“Harvesting saffron ourselves sounds like a big waste of time. Don’t you think?”

Logan brushed his fingers on the warm, rich soil. He imagined Remus and him in the field of saffron, carefully plucking saffron from the flowers, putting the delicate threads in jars to be dried later. Then he could ask all the questions in the world about the soil, the saffron. He could spend hours talking to Remus about everything he wanted to. He wanted to say so much. And yet his mouth wouldn’t obey him. Remus wouldn’t tell him to shut up, so what was stopping him? Nothing was stopping him.

“Yes,” Logan said, “it would take up a good deal of time. But honey won’t take that long, will it?”

“I don’t even need honey,” Remus admitted, “I just wanted an excuse to spend time with you without any of the others popping in or having to wait until like five am. You’re the functional one, you gotta get some sleep.”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up. Oh. Remus’ words slowly went through his head. His heart did a backflip— even though that certainly was anatomically impossible— and his lungs stopped taking in air.

“Yeah,” Logan said, voice quiet, “I do. I mean— uh. Spending time with you is much better than laying unconscious for eight hours.”

“As if you get eight hours of sleep,” Remus said, a bright smile plastered on his face.

“So. We don’t need honey?”

“We still need mussels.”

“Mussels, yeah,” Logan said, breathless, standing up, “lead the way.”

“What about the saffron?” Remus said, raising an eyebrow. He stood.

“...Well. We can always come back for that some other time.”

Remus nodded, a bright smile plastered on his face.

“Yeah, some other time. Well then. Off we go!”  
Remus grabbed Logan’s arm, and the world fell away from them. Logan closed his eyes. 

Waves crashed gently. He could hear them, and feel a cold sea breeze blow on his skin, ruffling his hair. He slowly opened his eyes. Apparently, night had fallen while his eyes were shut, and moonlight bathed everything in a pearly pale light. The air smelled like salt. Both of his feet were solidly on a wooden dock. Remus’ hand still felt warm on his arm.

“How long did that take?” Logan asked. The sun had still been up when they left.

“It’s always night here,” Remus explained, shifting his weight from foot to foot, “I like it better that way. Look at the beach and you’ll see why.”

Logan turned his head. The moon shone gently on the black sand beach, but more impressive were the waves— each foaming, rushing wave carried with it an ethereal teal glow, like all the stars in the sky were gently ebbing with every wave. Logan stared at the water, eyes wide. 

“The waves glow like that because of an algal bloom, right? And when the water moves it causes the algae to glow. It is absolutely wonderful, Remus.”

Remus smiled, running his hand through his hair, almost as if he was shy.

“Thanks, this place is one of the first places I’ve ever made, and the first one I felt satisfied with. The rest of this place I like to keep constantly changing, but not here.”

Remus walked to the end of the dock. He calmly set his bag down, then yanked off his fishnet top, holding it in his hand. Logan watched his hands undo the button of his shorts, then watched Remus toss his shorts onto the dock, revealing the bright green speedo he wore, leaving nothing up to the imagination. Remus raised his arms out like Christ on the cross, looking up at the full moon. Then he tilted backwards, gracefully falling off the dock, and landing in the water with a loud splash.

Logan slowly walked to the end of the dock. He knelt, knees pressed against wet wood. Even through the glowing waves and the dark water he could see Remus’ back, his legs, pale skin disappearing quickly underwater. 

Logan’s hands clasped the indigo fabric of his tie. Then they drifted down. He sat down, cross legged, staring down at the water. Slowly, he took one shoe off, setting it carefully behind him. Then the other. He pulled off his socks and placed them in his shoes. Then his pants, leaving him in boxers, his shirt, and his tie. He took off his glasses.

His hands clasped his tie again. He gazed at the water, dark as the night around him except for the beautiful waves and the occasional glimpse of Remus’ skin. Then he raised his head, staring out into the distance. He could see for miles. Empty, dark ocean, with no land in sight. Slowly, he loosened the knot. His hands shook. 

Remus wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care if he took off his tie. He wouldn’t see him as less. He would see him as Logic, as Logan. Nothing less. 

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of cold, salty air. pulled off his tie, setting it with the rest of his clothing. Before he could lose his nerve he yanked his shirt off, threw it haphazardly in the pile of clothing, and ran to the end of the dock. He jumped. Time seemed to slow as he rushed through the air, flying to the water—

He landed with a loud, graceless splash. The water around him lit up like fireworks. Surprisingly, the water felt warm compared to the bite of the wind. Logan couldn’t tell where Remus was, he just knew he was underwater with him now. Logan kicked and paddled until he reached the surface, gasping for breath. A sharp laugh escaped him. His heart pounded in his chest— he could feel it beating, even though he knew he didn’t need one to function. The waves rushed over him, bright as all the stars. 

Logan treaded water in place, then let himself tilt back, until he floated on his back. Waves gently rocked him, and he let them. What had he been so scared of? He laughed again, much quieter, listening to the waves rush to shore. 

Next to him, he heard Remus surface, taking a deep breath.

“You good?” Remus asked. Logan turned his head a little, looking at Remus. His hair was soaked, plastered to his forehead.

“Perfectly fine,” Logan responded, “and you?”

Remus didn’t answer, just smiled and sunk into the water. The wind blew cold over his skin, sending a shudder up his spine. Remus had to be swimming under him, collecting the mussels he’d use for the paella. Logan couldn’t help but wait for the time they’d be able to spend in the kitchen, knees bumping, or the time they’d spend collecting saffron, the sun shining on violet flowers in a golden gleam. 

Logan breathed out slowly. There was something with Remus that made all his thoughts become portraits. Cohesive, yes, but coated in a loveliness that never used to be there. It might have to do with the imagination. It might not. 

The waves beneath him swelled, then gently ebbed out. Remus surfaced again, treading water as easily as breathing. He’d changed his fishnet top into a net, which was full of mussels and what looked like clams, maybe? Logan couldn’t tell. 

Remus gingerly grabbed Logan’s arm. The waves under them swelled. 

“Let’s go back up onto the dock,” Remus whispered.

Logan nodded. Within the blink of the eye, they both appeared on the dock, both of them soaking wet. Remus shook his head like a dog, water flying everywhere. Logan raised his hand to keep the water from hitting him, even though he was already absolutely soaked. Remus set the bag of shellfish on the dock with a clatter. 

He calmly took one out of the net, and Logan realized they were oysters, not clams. Remus grabbed his bag, unzipping one of the pockets and pulling out a knife. He held the oyster carefully, curved side flat against his palm, and wiggled his knife into the hinge between the shells. Remus’ hands were surprisingly steady, even as the knife slipped between the shells and the oyster popped open. He scraped the knife against the inside of the shell, freeing up the meat, then knocked the oyster back like a shot.

Silently, he offered Logan the knife. Their fingers brushed as Logan took the hilt of the knife, grabbing an oyster from the net. He mimicked Remus’ movements, trying to slip the knife between the two shells. Remus chuckled, and grabbed the hand that held the knife. 

“You have to press harder,” he said, “you can’t finesse your way into the shell, you have to put some oomf behind it. If you don’t, it’ll never ever open up.”

Logan swallowed. He felt oddly lightheaded as Remus guided the knife between the shells of the oyster, helping him push the knife into the space between the shell, easing the hinges apart with the flat of the blade. The shell slipped into the cup of his fingers, just so, supported by the weight of Remus's hands over his, thumb pushing against his, twisting the hinge open with a pop.

"See?" Remus was grinning, that ever-present expression of glee, and Logan tore his eyes from it to the movement of hands again, guiding the knife under the oyster to lift the flat shell off. 

"These would be good for the garden," Logan blurted out. Remus looked up, just as attentive as he'd always been, and the words caught in his throat for a second. "For- for the soil, oyster shells, when ground into powder, have been shown to improve soil pH and nutrient status, strengthening cell walls due to an increase in calcium, overall resulting in healthier produce.”

Remus tilted his head. Logan’s face flushed.

“...I know you employ an extraordinary method of growing and cultivating, and therefore have no need for this knowledge, but tossing them aside or simply letting them disappear seemed.. unnecessary."

"I think you need to stop worrying about what I need to know, and start asking what else I'd want to hear,” Remus said with a grin, “But it is flattering that you think it's extraordinary. Now why don’t you try the oyster?”

Logan stared at the meat of the oyster.

“I just… drink it?”

“Like a shot, yeah.”

Logan slowly brought the oyster to his mouth. Slowly, he tilted his head back, opening his mouth.

The taste made his eyes go wide. The meat of the oyster was plump against his tongue, but it tasted like coppery brine. He swallowed it without chewing, since he hadn’t noticed Remus’ jaw moving. The coppery taste lingered on his tongue. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of fresh, ocean air.

“Why don’t you stay here?” Remus suddenly asked. Logan’s eyes shot wide open. He had another oyster in his hands, wriggling his knife between the shells.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Remus looked down at the oyster, face surprisingly blank and unreadable.

“You spend all day in your room except for when you come out and cook with me. I have a feeling that I almost wasn’t able to get you out of your room today. So why don’t you just stay here? I can make you a castle or a cottage for you to study in, and you won’t have to worry about the others bothering you. And you’ll be able to come here whenever you want. So what do you say. Will you stay?”

Logan stared down at his hands. He could. He could say yes, and watch Remus make him a place to stay, a place that was truly his. No worries of anyone walking in and seeing him disheveled, just himself and Remus.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t say yes. I’m needed with the rest of the sides, and Virgil may see my leaving as betrayal, or a sign of untrustworthiness. I need to keep them on my side. I need them to trust me, to listen to me.”

Remus still was fixated on the oyster. The knife slipped between the two shells, and it popped open. Remus’ brows rose.

“I still think you’d enjoy it here more than you would crammed in your little room all the time. And I don’t know how to tell you in a way that’ll make you listen, but they need you more than you think they do. You are all of Thomas’ cleverness and wit. Where would he be without you? Creativity is nothing without knowledge— whether its working with or against knowledge.”

Logan shook his head. Remus slowly reached for Logan’s hand. Logan let him take it, pull his fingers open, and press something into his palm. It felt like a pebble. Logan felt his hands ball into fists.

“Roman seems to mostly work against me, but at least Thomas heeds his words. I really can’t stay here. I…. I should honestly go. It’s late.”

Logan awkwardly stood, fists still clenched. Remus looked up at him with wide eyes, brows furrowed.

“Are you sure?”

Logan opened his mouth, but no words came out. A part of him still wanted to stay, to sit with Remus at the dock and watch the glowing waves, to eat oysters with him. He closed his mouth and nodded. Remus sighed.

“Alright. I’ll teleport you and your clothes back to your room. Just… you’re welcome back whenever you want. Don’t be a stranger, Logan.”

Logan smiled. He wanted to say something, but the next thing he knew the world vanished around him. Then it reappeared, and he saw the door to his room. There was a bowl of spaghetti in front of it. It had long grown cold, but Logan picked it up anyways, and stepped into his room.

He set the bowl of spaghetti on his desk, and haphazardly tossed his clothes on the floor. He felt soaked to the bone, and started to shiver a little, even though he knew he couldn’t feel cold, couldn’t feel pain, couldn’t feel the cocktail of conflicting emotions inside of him. With a sigh, he sat in his office chair. His hands, still curled into fists, shook slightly. What had Remus given him? Slowly, he relaxed his fingers. 

Resting in his palm was a round, black pearl. 

Logan stared at the black pearl in his palm. A million different thoughts rushed through his head, most of them strange and illogical. He could go back to the pier and watch the bioluminescent waves, or help Remus grind the oyster shells down into fertilizer. And they would eat oysters together until they had enough pearls to make a necklace, a necklace he’d wear wherever he went.

Then what? 

Then Logan would wear the necklace, and someone would ask where he got it from.

This was for the best for Thomas’ stability. It had to be.

Logan let his head flop against the headrest of his office chair, and shut his eyes, hoping sleep would take him.

He never let go of the pearl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God this chapter took so long and I’m honestly not even that happy with it. But I hope you all enjoy it. Leave a comment and a kudos. You can find me @palpalbuddypal on tumblr


	4. Breakfast in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is Not having a good time, so Logan brings him breakfast.

Remus knew he should get out of bed. 

Out of bed, down the stairs. 

Down the stairs and into the kitchen.

He owed Janus rabbit, and he wanted to talk to Logan.

Logan…

It had been a few days since they’d gathered ingredients, and they’d talked almost every single day since. They met in the kitchen. Talked at night. Sought one another out. But it would never last. Logan would say something about the light sides and then scurry away, or get all quiet if he thought he heard footsteps. It never felt like it did when they were alone, truly alone. 

He rolled over in bed, curled in on himself. 

Come on. Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen, make something with rabbit, then find another reason to talk to Logan. Maybe they could find a good paella recipe. And that would get Logan to come into the kitchen and talk to him. He could talk to Janus, too, and cook as he did so.

Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen.

Remus stared at the wall. 

Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen. It was 7:30 am. Janus would be in the kitchen soon. And if he wasn’t in the kitchen before he left, he’d get that look from Janus, one of those looks that said ‘are you okay?’ And made him feel all queasy and miserable.

The long and short of his situation was that the bed was nice and soft, and he didn’t see a point in getting out of bed. Even though there was food to be made and conversations to be had. Remus sat up, but didn’t get out from under the covers.

He got like this sometimes. When was the last time? Remus looked down at his hands. Maybe he could paint his nails. In bed. Then he’d get up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen. What had he been—

—yes, when was that last time he couldn’t— right after Thomas decided to skip the fucking callback. He’d spent most of the wedding laying in bed, marinating in a horrid, heavy feeling that he couldn’t quite identify. It was like trying to pin a still flapping butterfly to a board. Remus flopped back onto bed.

Now it was 9:00 am. Where did that time go? He must’ve fallen back asleep, or zoned out. He sighed. At least he had a reason to feel heavy then. Now he was just being stupid.

“No, you feel heavy because he abandoned you,” a deep voice echoed, “like all the others.”

“Shut the fuck up, Orange,” Remus grumbled, “I’m tryna fucking sleep.”

“No you’re not.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Orange laid his hand on Remus’ head. It was freezing cold against his skin. He gently ran his fingers through the brown strands. They stayed like that for a few minutes, in a cold, uncomfortable silence.

“Green, you know they’ll never apologize to you,” Orange whispered, “they’ll never accept you. They’ll never stay by you. It’s a fact of life, it’s alright-”

The words drifted away as Remus shut his eyes, mind wandering far, far away. It left the room entirely- bed, stairs, kitchen, Logan- and found itself back at that night on the dock, Logan’s pale skin under bright moonlight. He’d offered him a castle, a cottage. He gave him a pearl. Had he kept that pearl? Or did he throw it away? 

Orange chuckled darkly, hand still in his hair. He pet him slowly, as if consoling a dying animal.

“You poor little creature.”

“I’ll kill you,” Remus growled.

“You can’t even get out of bed.”

“I’ll still kill you.”

It had been several days— four, maybe— since Logan and him dove into the cool black of the ocean. He returned to the dock just yesterday. Slow waves lapped against the shore, illuminating the night in a bright blue bioluminescence. If Logan had asked, he would’ve made him a cottage on the beach. He would’ve turned the black sand to glass. He would’ve destroyed it all. 

“You’ve let yourself change too much. Remember, Green,” Orange mumbled, playing with Remus’ hair, “you are nothing but one part to a whole, a scrap, a husk. You’re empty and hated, hated by Red, by Purple, by Indigo—“

Remus moved without thinking, hands wrapping fast around Orange’s throat, squeezing with whatever might he had. Orange toppled off of the bed, and Remus went with him, slamming his knees into Orange’s chest as his back hit the floor, hands clasped around his throat like a prayer.

“Don’t you fucking dare say anything about him you goddamn piece of shit,” Remus snarled, "He is nothing like them— nothing like me! And that’s… that’s none of your business! That’s what it is! Do you hear me?”

Orange just grinned, his unreadable face flickering. Remus throttled him back and forth, slamming his head into the dirty floor of his room. Orange’s face never shifted. Still cold, unreadable. Remus dug his nails into his throat. His breath came in shallow puffs.

“Do you fucking hear me?”

Someone knocked on the door quietly. Janus, probably. Remus held fast to Orange’s neck.

“Do you hear me, motherfucker? He doesn’t hate me! HE DOESN’T HATE ME!” Remus screeched. All Orange did, the absolute bastard, was raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Look at that, I got you out of bed. You should thank me, Green.”

Remus punched him in the nose as hard as he could, a loud crack echoing through the room. Orange’s blood dyed his knuckles a shifting cascade of color. 

The door quietly creaked open.

“I heard something fall, and then yelling,” Logan began carefully. "I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Remus looked up from where he knelt on the floor, hands clasping at nothing but air. Cowardly bastard had up and vanished without a trace. Even the blood had vanished from his knuckles. Logan was still looking at him, tray in his hands, angelically haloed in the light of the hallway. Remus coughed, attempting (and probably failing) to not look like he had just tried to brutally murder someone.

“Hi, Logan, what’cha got there?”

“Janus said he didn’t see you at breakfast, so I, um. Grabbed some pancakes Virgil made, and made you a little plate. Are you alright?”

Remus stood, brushing dust off of his dirty pajama pants. He hadn’t washed them in… had he ever washed them? He sat back on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m perfectly peachy, Logan.”

Logan frowned. “It’s 9… 9 something. I didn’t check the time before I came up. But I thought you’d be hungry.”

Remus tilted his head, sloshed the sludge of his brain around trying to find coherent thought. The urge to scream at Logan welled up within him, a thick feeling in his throat as if he was about to puke up a torrent of slugs. He wanted to ask him for so many things- stay with him, hold him, tell him he doesn’t hate him. He gingerly pat his bed. 

Logan stepped inside of his room, closing the door behind him. Remus turned on the lights with a clap of his hands. Logan sat (on the bed,) facing him, and set the tray between them. There was a plate of pancakes— probably banana nut, knowing Virgil— as well as two glasses of water with lemon on the rim, and an orange. Two glasses of water.

“Were you planning on eating with me?” Remus asked quietly. Logan picked up one of the glasses.

“If you wouldn’t be averse to that,” he muttered. Remus snorted.

“You know I love spending time with you.”

Logan sipped his water, the slice of lemon bumping his glasses a little. Remus couldn’t help but stare. He wanted. He wanted. He didn’t know what it was, but whatever it was, he wanted. 

“How have you been?” Remus asked. Logan swallowed a mouthful of cold water. 

“Well. And you?”

Remus picked up the fork and knife on the tray, gingerly cutting into the stack of pancakes. He poked one with a fork, and lifted it to his mouth. Banana nut, just as he’d expected. He hated the taste of banana nut, but Logan didn’t know that. 

“Good, I’ve been doing good. I couldn’t get out of bed this morning, but besides that, I’m all good. I haven’t washed my sheets in close to twenty years and I’m so glad I’m not a human or else they’d smell absolutely horrible and be covered in dead skin.”

Logan looked down at the blanket. Remus chewed slowly.

“That’s okay,” Logan mumbled.

Remus chewed, then swallowed.

“Do you still have that pearl I gave you?” He asked.

Logan sipped his water. Remus’ heart started to pound.

“Do you still have that pearl I gave you?” Remus repeated. Logan lowered the glass from his lips, then nodded.

“Of course I do. It’s beautiful, Remus.”

“Just beautiful? No little scientific quip about pearls?”

Logan opened his mouth, then closed it. He cleared his throat.

“Cleopatra, according to legend, dissolved crushed pearls in vinegar to drink them. The pearls would dissolve in the vinegar, since pearls are 85-90% calcium carbonate, which is also the main component of snail shells, and eggs. Calcium carbonate is also suspected to be found on Mars.”

“Space oysters!” Remus said between bites of pancake, “speaking of Cleopatra, how has Roman been doing? Get it, since Cleopatra fucked Caesar and Caesar was Roman, though I doubt Roman is getting any. Did you know Cleopatra made a vibrator by sticking a bunch of bees in a dildo?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth twitched up.

“That is quite an interesting fact.”

“So how is he? Roman, I mean.

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, he’s been hanging out with Virgil a good deal. They were working together. I… don’t know if Roman is feeling any better, though. The two of them, surprisingly enough, seem to bring out the best and worst in one another. Roman makes Virgil brave, in an odd way.”

Remus nodded.

“I regret teaching him to cook.” 

“Who, Virgil?”

“Yes,” Remus said, “cooking’s my thing and I hate him so much and I hate Roman too, they left me, they hate me, and I hate them.”

Logan went silent.

“...Virgil made those pancakes. Do you want to move downstairs? We could make pancakes, and they wouldn’t be his.”

Remus nodded. 

“That sounds great! Are you sure the others won’t be there?”

“The kitchen has been mostly empty since Roman and Virgil’s little… escapade. It would be just the two of us.”

Remus stood, leaving the tray of food on the bed.

“Alright then! Race you to the kitchen!”

He lept off of his bed and burst through the door of his room, almost slamming into the wall before turning and running down the stairs on all fours. He toppled over his arms, and slid down the rest of the stairs on his back. His feet touched the floor, and he sprinted into the kitchen, only to find Logan already standing there.

“How the fuck?”

“I teleported,” Logan said, a small smirk lighting up his features. He still held the glass of water with a lemon slice on it, “we’re not real, remember?”

“You little shit,” Remus said with a smile. Logan raised his glass in a mock toast. Remus walked over to the cupboards, keeping his eyes on Logan the whole time. He wanted.

“The griddle is still out at least,” Remus observed, “Virgil never was one to clean up his own goddamn messes. Now sit down, unless you have an award winning pancake recipe!”

Logan sat, and said “your pancake recipe has won an award?”

Remus snorted.

“No, but Janus once told me it deserved an award.”

He knew the steps. Get the flour. Scoop some into a bowl, then baking powder, eggs, sugar… it felt like too much. He’d made it so many times. Now it felt like too much.

Logan stared at him.

“...do you wish for me to help you make them?”

“Yes, please,” Remus said, absolutely relieved, “get the flour.”

Logan stood from the table, and went over to the cabinet. He reached up, and Remus couldn’t help but stare at his arms as he got the milk and eggs out of the fridge.

“You should wear less clothes,” Remus said, “you have nothing to be ashamed of, really, you’re just as handsome as everyone else here.”

“Nobody else is here except you.”

“Are you saying I’m not handsome?” Remus teased, conjuring a bowl.

“I certainly am not.”

Logan pulled the flour down, as well as the baking powder. 

“Is there anything else we need from the cabinet?” He asked. Remus grabbed the milk, eggs and butter from the fridge.

“Salt and sugar, and the rest is moist ingredients!”

Remus used his fingers to squeeze 3 tablespoons of butter from the stick, watching Logan get all the ingredients lined up on the counter.

“How much of each ingredient do you need?”

“One point five cups flour, like, four teaspoons powder, tablespoon of sugar. You seem much more alive today, is that because the others aren’t around?”

Logan sighed.

“I constantly remind you that I have to keep up appearances in front of the others—“

“And I constantly tell you that you don’t have to listen to them. You can make them listen, too.”

Logan took out the measuring cups, starting to measure the ingredients. Remus melted the butter into the bowl with a snap of his fingers, then cracked the egg into the bowl.

“How would you suggest I go about making them listen?”

Remus giggled quietly.

“Patton’s afraid of death, right? Just threaten him. Say you’ll tear his throat out. Or stomp on his neck until he dies. And then when he comes back up you explain everything to him! Or you just scare him! Make your face all scary and spook him!”

Logan frowned.

“I don’t think that would do much for the situation, especially considering that Patton doesn’t listen to you because you scare him.”

“Have you tried asking Patton and the others to listen to you?” Remus asked, stirring the butter and eggs together. He wasn’t really focused on the recipe, just on Logan. That odd heaviness still lingered, but he tried to push past it.

“No, I don’t think so. If I did, it didn’t work.”

Remus sighed.

“My offer still stands, you know. A cottage, a castle, anything you want.”

Logan looked up at Remus, then back down at the measuring cups.

“I can’t, I’m sorry. With how much Thomas’ emotional state has been spiraling, I can’t leave him or the others unsupervised. Relations between the sides can move from arguing to breakdown inducing levels of tension.”

“When has that ever happened?”

Logan frowned. All of the ingredients sat neay measured in front of him, sat on the counter.

“Besides the memorable incidents concerning the wedding, Janus was the one who encouraged you to become more present in Thomas’ day to day life, was he not?”

Remus shrugged. He walked over to Logan, grabbing all the measuring cups and dumping them into the bowl, one by one, haphazardly mixing them together with a summoned spoon.

“I’ve always been in Thomas’ life, and I always will be. I just decided to become more present in his life, to piss off Patton and Virgil. So I’d wait until he was about to sleep, and scream my ideas into the imagination, which certainly terrified Patton and Virgil.”

Logan raised his eyebrow.

“You did all that because Janus told you too?”

Remus stared at Logan blankly.

“He’s the only person that’s always been there for me.”

An awkward silence fell between them. He mixed the contents of the bowl until all of the chunks of flour and baking powder were mixed in, making a liquid smooth batter. He considered adding blueberries or chocolate, but Logan liked simple things. Water with lemon, saffron crocuses. Remus looked over to Logan. 

“A cottage, would that be nice for you? Or would you want a more modern house with lots of bells and whistles? A smart house like that one Ray Bradbury short story, you know the ones with the lions and the kids and the lions ate the parents? I could make it in the crocus field you helped me make and you’ll have infinite saffron— you’re frowning, is that not nice? It sounds pretty nice to me.”

Logan shook his head.

“I’ve told you many, many times, I can’t.”

“Because of how your little light sides would feel?” Remus snapped, “What about how I would feel?”

“And how do you feel?” Logan asked sharply.

“I want to eat your heart,” Remus blurted. He felt his face burn. Logan blinked, staring right at him. 

“I don’t have a heart, Remus,” Logan whispered.

“What if you had a heart, if you were human? Would you let me eat it then?”

Logan looked away from him, staring down at his hands.

“If you wanted to,” Logan mumbled.

“I do,” Remus exclaimed, “with saffron and sea salt!”

Logan’s face burned bright red. His hands pressed flat against the counter, and he turned to Remus.

“It’s a damn shame I’m not human then,” Logan spoke, “because I would love every second of that.”

Without thinking, Remus dropped the bowl and the spoon, letting batter splatter all over himself and the stove. He turned, pressing himself close to Logan, placing one hand on his chest where his heart would be. It covered his shirt in batter, but Logan didn’t seem to mind.

“Then let’s pretend we are human.”

Logan turned to face him, eyes wide, and face flushed.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

Remus smirked. He leaned in, just enough to smell the coffee on Logan’s nervous breaths.

“Do you want me to?” He asked. Logan swallowed. He looked over Remus’ shoulder, then grabbed his wrist. 

“What about the others?” Logan whispered. Remus’ face fell. He set his hand on Logan’s cheek.

“If this makes you happy, the others won’t care who kisses you,” he promised. Logan smiled softly. 

“Then I want you to, Remus. Kiss me,” Logan said breathily. Remus leaned just a little closer, foot happily tapping against the ground.

Remus leaned in closer, closing the distance between them, and gently pressed his lips against Logan’s. He tasted like coffee, warm and inviting, and something very familiar. Probably spit. But it was good, because it was him, it was Logan, Logan kissing him and moving his hand from his wrist to the small of his back. Wonderful, so wonderful. Remus pulled back, just for a breath he didn’t even need, and pressed his lips to Logan’s cheeks, then his nose, his brow bone.

“Is that necessary?” Logan mumbled. Remus laughed quietly, pressing a small kiss to Logan’s eyelid. They fluttered open. Remus stared into his eyes, and cupped Logan’s cheek in his hand.

“A cabin,” Remus muttered, “a cabin where we can be alone and I can kiss you all the time, and you never have to be scared again.”

Logan sighed, leaning closer to Remus. They bumped their foreheads together, Remus wrapping his arms around Logan possessively. 

“I can’t leave. But we can still kiss,” Logan whispered.

“I’m so glad I got out of bed.”

“What the fuck is going on?!?”

Remus turned his head quicker than he ever thought he had before. There, standing in the middle of the kitchen, Virgil glared at them.

“Oh, hi Virgil, don’t you look cheerful as ever,” Remus crowed. He looked back, Logan’s face as pale as a pearl. 

“Get the fuck away from him,” Virgil ordered. Remus tilted his head.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, then I’ll fucking kill you.”

Remus’ brows shot up. 

“Over what, you perpetually pissed purple pussy? Just because Logan wanted me to--”

“I doubt he wanted anything from you,” Virgil growled, “what could he possibly fucking want? Get away from him. Now.”

“Why don’t you just ask--”

“Get. Away.”

Remus glanced back at Logan. Any trace of emotion had vanished, replaced with that cold, stony stoicism. Remus wanted to grab him. Grab him and scream at him to say something, scream until something got through to him, scream until Logan realized that even if he did piss the light sides off, he wouldn’t be alone, they’d always have the ocean and the kitchen and one another--

“You are a really, really shitty person, Virgil. And the worst part is that I don’t even think you see it. I mean, what gives you the goddamn right to come wandering in here and tell me what to do, and assume what Logan wants?”

Virgil took a step forward.

“I know that he wants nothing to do with a shitbag skunk-cunt like you.”

“Oh, what an original insult!” Remus exclaimed. He laughed, then the smile suddenly dropped from his face. ”Actually, it isn’t. That was the same thing I called you when you left me, left me behind to rot, you and fucking Roman, and you know, I know what you want with him. You want everything about him, you want to leech off the love he gets from the others since none of them fucking love you, and you know that deep down, don’t you? That nobody likes you!”

Remus reached behind him. He grabbed Logan’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Logan’s hand was limp in his grasp. Virgil glared at him.

“Wow, I’d sure be hurt if you weren’t such a fucking hippocrite. At least I’m wanted. I may have my moments, sure, I can be paranoid and snappy, but that’s not my constant state of being. You’re just a rabid dog. Sure, Janus may tolerate you, but once he really figures out how useless you are, he’ll leave. I’m sure that’s why he suddenly decided to play nice with the light sides, he realized that you couldn’t do anything for him anymore-- you certainly can’t scare me or Patton-- and you’re useless to him, time to throw you away like the shitsack you are. You’re useless to everyone, you know? If you just locked yourself in your room for the rest of Thomas’ life, nothing would change. You’re Roman’s lesser half, his fucking shadow-- are you crying?”

Remus touched his face. It was wet. His feet felt like they were glued to the floor. 

“What,” Virgil mocked, a shaky smile on his face, “Can’t handle the heat? Then get the FUCK out of the kitchen!”

Remus raised his arm to throw a punch. Logan’s grip tightened on his hand.

“That is enough, both of you,” Logan said calmly. He stepped in front of Remus, letting go of his hand.

“Virgil, thank you for being vigilant, but I assure you it’s fine.”

Virgil stared at Logan’s chest. His usually neat dress shirt had a messy stain in the shape of a hand, right over his heart.

“Did he hurt you?” Virgil asked.

“He didn’t hurt me, I’m okay. We were having a simple conversation, nothing more.”

Remus stared at him sadly. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. They weren’t just talking, they had something. They kissed, for gods sake, they kissed--

Remus grabbed Logan’s shoulders and spun him around. He slammed Logan against the table, and kissed him deep and hard, desperate. Logan’s hand pushed against his chest. Remus could feel Virgil’s hands grab his shirt and yank, the collar choking him, but he didn’t need air or water or food, he didn’t need anything but Logan, his Logan--

Logan shoved him away with both hands, staring at him sadly. As if he was nothing but a hurt animal. 

“I--” 

“Virgil, let go,” Logan said. Virgil let go of his shirt with a quiet grumble.

Remus stared at Logan. He backed away, until he could feel the stove against his back, the heat of the griddle.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Virgil shouted. Remus stared at the floor. If Virgil said anything else, it was lost in the dark tidal wave of emotion that hit Remus. He didn’t even know what it was. He was drowning, and the water was devoid of any life. Dark, too dark, too cold. He shook. A sudden heat jolted up his arm-- when had he set his hand on the griddle? He could smell his skin cooking. Bubbling. He watched Logan. He said he wanted to kiss him, he said he wanted him to, and they kissed and it was so wonderful. Virgil left. Logan walked out behind him. His palm burned on the griddle.

“What’s cooking?” 

Remus looked up. Orange sat in front of him at the kitchen table, straddling a chair. Remus stared at him, trying to see past whatever Orange did to make himself imperceptible, but his form kept on shifting in dizzying spirals of color, like oil on water. Remus slowly raised his hand from the griddle. If he was human, the skin would be white and blistered, maybe even peeling in a few places. But just like Logan, he wasn’t human. His hand was fine.

“A heart,” Remus mumbled, “and I’m eating it with saffron and sea salt.”

Orange tilted his head.

“There’s no need to repeat yourself, Remus. I heard everything. And I’m here to say that I told you Indigo would leave.”

Remus moved without thinking. He rushed at Orange. Instead, he collided with a chair, sending it clattering to the ground.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Remus screamed. 

“No you won’t, because you know I’m right. I’ve always been right.”

This time, Orange sat atop the counter. Remus summoned his morningstar with a flick of his wrist.

“No you’re not, you’re not right,” Remus growled. He swung at Orange. Orange vanished into thin air before it could even come close to hitting, the heavy iron ball instead slamming into the counter. It cracked the counter, and sent flour flying.

“I’ve always been right, Remus!” Orange said from in front of the fridge. He leaned against it oh so casually, “I’ve been right that you’re only playing house because you think they’ll all leave. Well, look at you now. Making pancakes, right? How sweet.”

Remus swung again. The morning star collided with the fridge. It dented the door, and made a horrible screech of metal on metal. He pulled back, ready to strike again.

“You believe that Indigo deserves to be listened to no matter what, correct?” Orange asked. He laid on the table. Remus swung. The morning star collided with wood, splintering the wood.

“I take that as a yes,” Orange said. He was back on the table. Remus swung again. It hit the table in the same place as last time.

“Fucking stay still!” Remus screamed.

“You think he should be listened to no matter what he says or does. No matter who he truly is. And yet, you hold yourself back.”

For the third time, the morningstar slammed into the table. This time, it broke through, splitting the table in two. Splintered wood flew in every direction.

“You cook because that makes you palatable,” Orange repeated. He sat on the stove. Swing. The griddle broke under the force of the morning star.

“But you aren’t.”

Swing. Miss. Break.

“You are a monster, that’s how you were made, that is who you are.”

Swing. Miss. Break. 

“You’re really good at swinging that thing around. Did you know that Lucifer was called the Morning Star? And he got punted out of heaven for defying God. His brother was an angel, I believe.”

Remus stilled, panting. Orange stood on the countertop, back pressed against the cabinets, 

“You’re nothing like them. You are the parts of humans that they hate, the beast in the brain, a reminder that humans evolved from animals. They hate you, Remus. They all do. Because they don’t understand you.”

Remus’ hands tightened around the morning star. Orange tilted his head.

“If Indigo loved you, wouldn’t he have said it by now?”

He hefted up the morningstar, and swung recklessly at Orange. The wood of the cabinet splintered and cracked. Glass shattered with a massive crash, like a wave hitting the shore, and millions of glinting shards flew at him, some sticking in his skin and others harmlessly bouncing on the tiles. 

“You are so much more than what they think you are,” Orange said, breath tickling the back of Remus’ neck, “so why try to make them like you? Do you really care that much about them? They’ve done nothing but abandon you, Remus. Over and over again. Nothing has or will change that.”

Remus whipped around, morningstar in hand, but Orange was gone. Remus dropped the morningstar. It clattered to the ground with a thud. He opened his mouth to scream, but no words came out. Nothing came out. He shakily walked to the destroyed table, and sat down on a chair. He looked around. Broken glass littered the floor. The stove had a massive dent in it, and the griddle had been snapped in two. The fridge had a dent, the counters had a dent and harsh scratches from his mace’s spikes, and the realization that he did that just because Orange made him angry made bile rush up his throat.

He didn’t scream or cry or vomit. Just stared at the mess he’d made.

Really, he’d made a mess. Maybe Logan didn’t want to kiss him. Maybe it was an experiment to him, like that stupid fucking schedule that had started this all, made Logan come to the kitchen, see him cooking…

Remus closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he sat on the edge of his dock, watching the glowing waves crash against the shore without end. The place he’d shared with Logan, offered him everything he wanted. Their skin was pale under the moonlight. Remus pulled his knees up to his chest.

He still owed Janus rabbit. He’d make it, then that would be the end, and he’d never set foot in that fucking kitchen again.

He watched the waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took... embarrassingly long, and I’m infinitely sorry about that. I’m not super happy about this chapter, but updating this fic feels like the right way to end the hectic year that is 2020. Find me on tumblr at @palpalbuddypal

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at @palpalbuddypal or @Mianite-3-unofficial. I’m equally dead on both accounts, but I will answer asks


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